List of Events Where Wheeljack Lost His Left Hand
by Vixen Tail
Summary: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth. No Wheeljacks were harmed in the making of this fic . . . oh, hell. Who am I kidding? Pure crack.
1. Common Living Unit Cleaners

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth. Seriously? It's just a plot bunny. Don't expect it to update any time soon.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : What does the exploding is listed at the end, so the cleaners Wheeljack is throwing around are identified for you. This is mostly situated in the live action universe, and has no real relation to my other stories' AU, besides a brief mention. Note: This is a friendship fic, not slash.

**Edited 17/09/11 **: Finally found my old files for the story, so I'm going through and rewriting bits of it.

* * *

**Number One on the List – Common Living Unit Cleaners**

Wheeljack was being a very good little mechling. He had finished his orn's educational vids, and his carrier had placed him in the main room to play while she finished cleaning the rest of their living unit. The older femme had been in the middle of transferring the cleaners from one room to the next when she set the newly upgraded mechling in a corner with a few toys to occupy him for a while, forgetting a few small bottles that had been knocked underneath the couch.

This left a youngling Wheeljack in a room with a few half-full containers of cleaning solution. Spotting the colorful containers when he was picking up a few of his toys, the just out of sparkling hood youngling tottered unsteadily over to the forgotten cleaners. In complete sparkling-like innocence, Wheeljack wondered what would happen if he used the cleaning liquids on himself like how his carrier was using them on the floors and walls. Would that let him skip his wash joor later?

Completely game to try something new out in the hopes that he could skip a trip to the dreaded wash rack, the very young white and green mechling reached for the first nearby container, fishing it out of under the couch. Scrabbling with the cap, he discovered that the liquid inside was clear and smelled really strong, but Wheeljack knew that his carrier used it with another of the liquids that looked clear. Setting the first container to his right to be used once he found the other liquid, the green and white youngling reached for the next one.

This liquid was green so Wheeljack threw it over one shoulder, heedless of the cleaner splashing out of the container. The next one was blue, so that bottle went the same way.

Then the green and white young mech found another clear cleaner solution, and with the other clear solution he happily started to clean up his armor of the other cleaners that had spilled over him and the dirt of the orn that had gotten on his lightweight armor plates . . .

(ooo000ooo)

The explosion rocked the entire living unit, making Wheeljack's carrier fall into the wash rack she was cleaning. Scrambling upright, Livewire made a mad dash to where she left her off spring in a panic.

The main room of the unit was a mess. The couch and some of the floor was on fire, and her youngling was sitting a bit farther into the room than she had left him . . . without most of his left arm.

Wheeljack was blinking his optics at the stump of his arm, his developing processors rather fascinated by the effects of the cleaners, the resulting flash of light, and the brief flash of heat. He couldn't feel anything yet due to system shock, and had assumed he had turned his arm invisible by some arcane method.

The white and green mechling was wondering if he could do it again, as the invisible effect would be fun to play with when his carrier screeching in terror made Wheeljack look up. Waving his left stump of an arm, the youngling giggled. "Look, carrier! I'm invisible!"

* * *

Ratchet had gone to work with his creator this cycle, expecting to be bored with only medics, mechanics, and the odd patient or two to play with. To the youngling's surprise, it was more fun to play with the medic's tools than his own toys from home, even if he was restricted to the waiting room for his creator's work shift.

Swinging a portable welder in a manner that he thought any knight or Templar would be proud of; Ratchet didn't pay any attention to the sudden entrance of a panicky femme and a crying youngling. Quite honestly, he didn't notice anything until he tripped on the femme's pedes and landed on his skid plate. With a bit of embarrassment, Ratchet looked up to the femme. "Sorry, miss. Didn't mean to trip over you."

With a startled blink, Livewire looked down to the mechling sprawled over her pedes. "It's okay. Would you like to play with me for a while?" The femme figured that playing with this young mech would take her processor off her own that the medic was now working on. Primus knew she needed a distraction.

"Okay." Picking himself up, Ratchet searched under the chairs stacked in the waiting room for his welding tool slash sword.

(ooo000ooo)

By the time Wheeljack had his arm replaced, from the left elbow joint to his hand, and was brought back to his carrier in the waiting room, Ratchet was in the middle of 'slaying' a 'demon'. Livewire was playing the demon while the red and white youngling was running around the waiting room waving his welding tool at her.

The mech that had brought Wheeljack to the waiting room, who happened to be Ratchet's creator, set the now very curious and fully repaired mechling down to join in. He watched a moment with a grin creasing his face plate for a breem before leaving the room for the next patient waiting on him.

Livewire took a breem from the ongoing game with the red and white youngling to fuss over her creation and his arm before continuing to play with both of them until the end of the work shift.

Once his creator arrived to take Ratchet home, the two young mechs chatted while Livewire exchanged information with Ratchet's creator for future youngling play dates.

"Why were you brought in?" Ratchet peered at the other youngling, trying to find what malfunction the green and white mechling was suffering from. Despite the discoloration on the left arm, the other youngling looked like he was in good repair.

"I, ah . . ." Wheeljack muttered something that Ratchet could not make out.

"What was that?"

The green and white youngling pointed to his left elbow joint. "I blew up and lost my arm." At the disbelieving look that earned him, Wheeljack tried to defend himself from the wary expression now creeping into the look other youngling was giving him. "I was trying to clean myself so I wouldn't have to get washed up later."

"How did you blow yourself up?" Ratchet took a few steps back, just in case the green and white could suddenly blow up right now. He wasn't taking any chances.

Wheeljack took an astrosecond to look upset about the events of the cycle, then locked his optics with the other. "I have _no_ idea. But, I think I could do it again. It was loud and bright _and_ fun, not too painful until I got here. Thought I turned myself invisible for a bit. I wonder what would happen if I used the green stuff instead of that other clear one . . ."

Twitching, Ratchet ran for his creator. The red and white mechling wanted to go home before the other green and white could blow up again.


	2. Batteries and Energon

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : Wow. This is a bit more popular than either of my other stories. But, hey. We got two well-known Cybertronians and fun exploding stuff. Think I know why . . .

**Edited 17/09/11 **

* * *

**Number Two on the List – Batteries and Energon**

Ratchet, to the everlasting horror of his young CPU, was going to go see that green and white youngling that had the exploding problem again. Creator had told his carrier about the femme that played with him in the waiting room, and both parental units agreed that orn care with another young mech would benefit Ratchet's development and had wasted no time in calling the other carrier femme about setting up the orn care.

That cycle saw Ratchet sullenly following his creator to the living unit where he would be spending most of his joors at for the foreseeable future. He was not looking forward to playing with a mechling who could blow up at any time, last cycle notwithstanding. The femme had been fun to play with, but deactivation by the spontaneous detonation of her youngling was not on the red and white's list of preferred ways of spending his time.

When his creator knocked on a door just a few streets down from his own home, he recognized the femme that answered the door as the same femme that played with him, which cemented in young Ratchet's processor that he was going to die. Possibly in a very horrible way that involved fire and colors and whatever else the green and white youngling had been playing with last cycle. Pouting, the red and white youngling watched his creator leave, before turning his attention back to the femme smiling down at him.

"Okay, Ratchet." Livewire folded herself down to the mechling's optic level. "Wheeljack is finishing up his educational vids for this orn, so what do you like to do while you wait?"

To Ratchet, that sounded like a last request, and who was he to argue? "Can I refuel first?"

(ooo000ooo)

Wheeljack threw his supposedly youngling tampering proof vid player onto his berth. Carrier had said that he was going to be playing with another young mech this orn and he wanted to meet him when he got to the door, but the stupid vids were taking too long for the green and white's patience to last. So, he pulled the battery out to stop the vid player without the telltale beeping that would alert an older bot that he had not completed his work.

Spinning around once to make sure his room was somewhat ordered and clean so his carrier wouldn't interrupt and tell him to clean his room, Wheeljack ran into the main room of the living unit. The green and white mechling could hear his carrier talking to somebot else, and he hoped that would be his new playmate.

Skidding into the room, Wheeljack almost giggled at the sight of the red and white mech from his trip to the Medical Ward. "Hiya!"

Ratchet choked and nearly spit out his youngling grade energon when the other mechling jumped onto his back plate in a rather enthusiastic greeting. Wildly waving his arms and spilling his half empty cube of energon on the floor and over both of them, Ratchet and Wheeljack crashed to the floor in a heap as Livewire snickered softly nearby. With a groan, the red and white mechling pushed the dazed green and white off him and sat up. "That was stupid. Why didja jump on me?"

Blinking, Wheeljack offered a sheepish grin. "Wanted to say hi."

"Really." Ratchet glared at the young mech that was his doom, before a thought popped up in his processor. If he was going to die, why not go having fun? "Would you like to play blocks with me?"

(ooo000ooo)

By the time Ratchet's creator came to pick him up, the red and white youngling had to admit the orn did not go as he expected it to. Wheeljack did not blow up again, and both the mechlings had fun without any hints that something might go horribly wrong.

Once Ratchet had left with his creator, Wheeljack spun around intending to play in his room for a while until the late orn refuel. Livewire blocked him before he could get very far. Crouching down, the femme held out Wheeljack's disabled vid player and stared at her youngling with one optic ridge raised. "Well?" She prompted her creation as he sheepishly kicked one pede.

"I, err . . . wanted to play?" The green and white smiled up at his carrier, then pouted and grumbled as the femme frowned at him and refused to take back the arm holding his vid player.

"I know you know how to fix it, 'Jack. So put the battery back in and finish your work, before your recharge time." Livewire placed the vid player in his hand, then left him there to clean up the spilled energon and scattered toys around the main room of the living unit.

The green and white pulled the missing battery out from where he had hidden it under a few of his cables and then flipped the vid player over to reconnect the power supply.

* * *

Ratchet was again sitting in the waiting room of the medical station; his creator had forgotten to do something before leaving after his shift. The red and white youngling sat in one of the provided chairs, swinging his pedes as he waited for his creator to come back so they could leave.

A few breems into his wait, he was a bit surprised to see Wheeljack's carrier being led into the waiting room again, and she seemed equally surprised to see him.

Livewire gave him a sheepish grin before walking over to sit next to the young mech. After a moment of trying to avoid the red and white youngling's confused optics, she finally volunteered why she was back. "A battery covered in energon explodes when attached to something that draws power. Who knew?"

"I'm guessing 'Jack knows now," Ratchet crossed his small arms over his chassis and slumped back in the chair, "at least he waited until after I left."

The older femme blinked at him, lip plates trying to twitch up into a smile. "That's not nice to say, this has only happened twice."

The red and white youngling snorted at her as his creator entered the room. "So far."


	3. Data Pads

**Summary**: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer**: Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note**: We have some guest this chapter. They will not be appearing very often, just when Ratchet needs a welding tool. And yes, Wheeljack will be blowing other parts off, but they will not be appearing on this list without the left hand going as well. Sorry peeps, but the title is Left Hand, not Body Parts. This would never end if Ratchet counted how many times Wheeljack went to pieces. And, yes. I will update if I get three or more reviews per chapter. Otherwise, it will be when ever I write them up. One to two reviews will kick my aft on writing a new chapter, three or four will mean it will be sometime soon.

* * *

**Number Three on the List – Data Pads**

Ratchet's creator was a little surprised that his creation requested medic's tools for his spark orn anniversary. When he pressed the red and white youngling as to why, Ratchet grumbled: "Knowing 'Jack, I'll need it sooner or later."

A bit unnerved at the tart reply, but pleased none the less that his creation was following in his pedes, the young mech got his requested tools from his creator and carrier. Ratchet then pressed them for lessons.

Much to the red and white mechling's relief, Wheeljack seemed to have learned from his two mishaps. Three megacycles passed without the smallest hint of the green and white's small explosive problem. Although Ratchet was not fooled, he saw the long wondering looks Wheeljack gave to both containers of cleaner solution and to his cubes of energon. The young red and white mech was convinced that all it would take for the green and white youngling to explode again was a off hand comment, a half processed idea, and a lack of an older bot's supervision for Wheeljack's next trip to the medical district to occur.

It was three megacycles and four orns after his second explosion for the green and white's curiosity to get the better of him. To be completely fair, it was partially Ratchet's fault as well. The red and white mechling _knew_ that leaving the other green and white mechling to his own devices would let explosion number three happen.

On the orn in question, Wheeljack's carrier had taken both young mechs to the Hall of Records to check out some new book files while she quickly did some errands around the city. Ratchet had picked a few more data files on first aid and Cybertronian anatomy, Wheeljack wandered around and finally picked some files geared to young scientist. The red and white youngling had been waylaid by two other mechlings and a young femme, a black painted Ironhide, a red and blue painted Orion Pax, and a pink and white Ariel. While the four were chatting, Ratchet had forgotten to keep an optic on his friend, and Wheeljack wandered off to read his new book files while he waited.

After spending a few pleasant breems talking with younglings that he didn't have to watch constantly, the red and white froze mid sentence when it occurred to him that the green and white had not interjected with a comment in a long while.

The young black mech blinked. "Er, Ratch'? Ya okay?"

Ratchet lunged forward and grabbed onto Ironhide and Orion by their chest plates. "Please tell me one of you know where Wheeljack went."

"Wheeljack would be the green and white you were with?" The red and blue painted mechling tried to pull the red and white's death grip off his armor. "No, why?"

"Yeah, why? What trouble could he get in ta here?" Ironhide and Ariel watched uneasily as Ratchet seemed to shudder.

"You don't understand. Wheeljack has a habit of blowing himself up." The red and white hauled the two mechs closer. "We gotta find him before he makes something explode. 'Jack thinks it's fun!"

" . . . WHAT!" Orion nearly jumped out of his armor. "Why would he think that?"

Ratchet groaned. "That's just how 'Jack thinks. I've stopped questioning his sanity and started in on my own. Are you going to help me or not?"

Ironhide exchanged a look with Ariel, while Orion gaped at the red and white.

"Kay, where do ya think he ran off ta?"

* * *

Unfortunately, the four young bots only found Wheeljack _after_ he managed to blow up again.

The green and white had started reading some of his new book files in a quiet corner, when a question popped into his processor. 'Is the liquid used in the display screen of a data pad better for viewing in larger quantities?'

Relocating himself to the basement, Wheeljack had found and pulled three old data pads apart and poured the liquid contained in the screens into a empty energon cube to observe it from a distance. After a breem of watching the liquid do nothing but shimmer, Wheeljack's processor wandered over his first meeting with Ratchet and what had caused it. He knew now that the wires in a bot's arm could ignite certain chemicals and solutions, and while he was thinking, the green and white's optics landed on the wires left over from pulling the data pads apart. The idea that he could use his own arm to play with the liquid was a bit much for his nearly non existent caution.

Quickly looking around to make sure nobot was around, Ratchet would hit him over the helm for trying this, Wheeljack used some of the shorter scrap wire to attach his wrist control circuits to a longer length of wire, and dipped the exposed end into the cube of data pad screen liquid. Crouching down beneath the table immediately after letting go of the wire, the green and white was slightly disappointed to see the cube only glowed a bluish-green.

Standing up straight again, and feeling somewhat foolish in taking cover from a cube of colorful liquid, Wheeljack leaned over the cube to get a better look at the now glowing and still shimmering liquid contained inside.

* * *

A tremor rocked the Hall of Records. Most of the visiting bot thought it was only a small, localized quake, since nothing broke or was knocked over, and returned to what they were doing.

Ratchet knew better.

Quickly leading the other three younglings to the basement level, all four were momentarily blinded from a haze of smoke. Pushing on regardless of the limited visibility, the red and white's small trickles of keenly felt dread became a reality when he nearly tripped over a piece of metal painted green and white. A bot's hand, to be precise. With another groan, Ratchet scooped the piece of his friend and continued on to find the rest of Wheeljack.

"Um, Ratchet? Is that . . ." Ariel was cringing behind Orion, who looked a bit queasy himself. The young femme's optics were locked on the metal gripped in the red and white's hand.

"Yeah. It's 'Jack's. Help me find the rest of him." Ratchet began to check high and low, just in case the hand was not the only part Wheeljack blew off. A very curious Ironhide followed him down the rows of book file cases. Passing a very familiar shaped hole halfway down the isles, the red and white mech found his green and white painted friend blown into another case. "Well? Anything to say for yourself?"

"That was . . . SO COOL!" Wheeljack smiled up to his friend and the three behind him, ignoring the jump the red and blue mech made when he shouted. "Didja know that the liquid in a data pad's screen will glow when charged? It also explodes when exposed to too much energy." Wiggling a bit to try and dislodge himself, the green and white belatedly noted the green and white metal in the other mechling's grip. "Oh, hey! Ratch', you found my hand! Was wondering where that went." With a grunt, Wheeljack finally worked himself loose and landed in a pile at Ratchet's pedes. Picking himself up, the green and white gave a sheepish smile to the four bots staring at him. "Think you can reattach it before my carrier gets here?"

Ironhide gave up all pretenses of not enjoying this little escapade, and cracked up laughing like a loon.

Ratchet huffed in exasperation, then pinned a rather dark glare on a badly startled Orion behind him. "You said you were in training to be a welder, right?" At the blue and red's hesitant nod, the red and white held out a hand. "Got a welding tool I can use?"

* * *

By the time Wheeljack's carrier had returned to pick up her creation and Ratchet, the femme found five younglings quietly talking in one of the reading nooks. "Hey, my little mechs. Ready to go?" Her green and white mechling bounded over to her, with the red and white young mech following at a more sedate pace, waving at the three they left behind. The older femme frowned when she saw just how dirty her youngling had gotten. "Just what have you been doing, 'Jack?"

Wheeljack, once a clean and shinny green and white, was now several shades of soot gray and dirty green. Her creation seemed to become very embarrassed at the question, and refused to look her in the optics. "Uh . . . I'll tell you on the way to the medical district, carrier."

Ratchet snorted from behind Wheeljack, glaring at a grinning Ironhide. "In detail. Right, 'Jack?"

With a sheepish grin, the soot gray and dirty green mechling held up his left arm.

The older femme could clearly see the neat welds circling his wrist joint, and the new looking wire patches under the armor.


	4. Soldering Tool

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : Since I'm having Wheeljack's creator deactivated, if you all can suggest names for the creators and carriers of our favorite soon to be Autobots and Decepticons, they might make a show in the story. You will be credited in the ANs if your suggestion is used. Else wise, they will keep being referred to as creator and carrier. I have another idea for second guest appearance, or fifth as the case may be, and they might be in the next chapter or the one after that. Not sure yet.

* * *

**Number Four on the List – Soldering Tool**

After Wheeljack's explosion at the Hall of Records, Ratchet figured that he needed better tools.

It was pure luck that the older youngling Orion Pax had been in the Hall at the same time as them, since all bots learning constructional engineering were given the tools of their trade once they picked their job. The blue and red to be bridge builder had some things that the red and white medic to be didn't, like a portable welder and some stronger clamps.

Ratchet had the more delicate tools of his trade, like the ones required to patch up energon lines and some light soldering units that allowed small temporary welding jobs in thin metals to be done. Until the young red and white mech advanced some in his medic's training courses, that would all he would be allowed from the medical stations. The best tools would come later, but only after he upgraded to his adult frame.

Musing on the difficulties in acquiring his own decent set of tools, Ratchet had the idea to suggest his problem to his volatile friend. Despite the explosive tendencies, Wheeljack was already rather brilliant when it came to problem solving.

The green and white youngling was waffling about his own career choices, trying to decide between either a engineer or a scientist. Quiet honestly, Wheeljack could be exceptional at either, but the green and white didn't see a reason why he couldn't be both. Although, the younger green and white mechling had a few more vorns to decide on what he wanted to do.

So, one orn while the two were sitting in a youngling's play ground, Ratchet brought up his small problem with Wheeljack. "Er, 'Jack?" The red and white mechling poked his friend, who was lying on his back and staring at the sky.

Pulling his processor out of the atmosphere, the young green and white mech turned to look at the mech sitting next to him. "Yes, Ratch'. What do ya want?"

Ratchet stared at the green and white for a breem, trying to decide if he really should ask this of the mech. "I need better medic's tools. You think you can make some without blowing up again?"

"That's not nice. This last time I didn't even loose anything!" Wheeljack huffed loudly, pouting at the semi teasing and part threatening tone.

Three orns ago, the green and white had gotten a beginner's chemistry set from his carrier, in the hope that something relatively harmless would keep her youngling from wandering off and playing with explosive objects again. Once Wheeljack had gone through all of the usual and recommended experiments that were included with the kit, he had added a few chemicals and elements that were not widely available.

However, those extra ingredients were not included for very good reasons, and the green and white had found that out when the last experiment he tried exploded in his face plate, and sent him helm first into his berth room's wall.

He was still trying to live that one down. Because once Ratchet and his carrier rushed to his room to see what had gone on, both had collapsed laughing at the poor mechling. Once they made sure that Wheeljack did not need another trip to the medical district.

Glaring at the snickers that Ratchet made at his previous misfortune, the green and white started turning his friend's problem over in his processor.

Medical tools were very similar to the ones used by engineers, just a touch more delicate and refined. Wheeljack's creator had been a engineer, before a rather regrettable incident occurred and he was deactivated on duty.

Carrier had kept his creator's tools, they were hidden away somewhere in their living unit.

Wheeljack could probably find them, as long as they were not in his carrier's own room. Recalibrating would take a bit longer, because he first had to find the specifications of a medic's tool in order to fulfill Ratchet's request. But it promised to be interesting, and the young green and white mech was growing bored.

"I could, if you can find the specs for the tools you need." Wheeljack tapped his jaw hinge, optics wandering back up to the sky. "It won't be that hard, if I can find my creator's old toolbox."

" . . . you have a creator?" Ratchet blinked his own optics at the green and white, processor going over all the times he had been at Wheeljack's home. "Why haven't I seen him yet?"

"He was deactivated, a long time ago." The green and white mechling tilted his helm. "Carrier said it was something about crossed wires, a generator, and a stupid scientist that didn't double check his own work. That was long before I can recall, so I can't remember him very well."

" . . . oh." The red and white thought about that. Wheeljack's creator sounded just like his creation. If he had still been alive, Ratchet wondered how much work he would have now.

The mini medic shivered in horror at the thought.

"What's the matter, Ratch'? You cold?"

* * *

Finding the proper calibrations for medical tools was the easy part. Ratchet just had to ask his creator about them, and respond that he wanted them to memorize the settings before owning his own to the inquiry on why he wanted them.

Finding the tools that once belonged to Wheeljack's creator was a bit more difficult. They had been stored in a create in the storage room next to his carrier's room. Extracting the needed tools one off cycle without waking his carrier took most of the recharge time of the green and white youngling.

Yawning a bit, but game for anything that required tools and even more tools, Wheeljack took the medic's specs from Ratchet and barricaded himself into his room while the red and white youngling ran interference for him with his carrier.

Making the adjustments was easy. Just a few tweaks here and changes there, and the engineer's tools were ready to be used by any medic. A few of the tools needed to be re-sized smaller, like a few of the larger pliers and three of the screwdrivers. Four of the gauges needed recalibration done, and all of the tools needed a good cleaning.

Once he was done with the tools that were in the engineer's toolbox, Wheeljack looked over what he had finished for his medically inclined friend and compared them to the list of common medical tools Ratchet had given him.

The only thing that was missing, was a portable welder.

Recalling how thankful his red and white friend had been when the red and blue youngling handed over his, Wheeljack wondered if he could make a welding tool out of the soldering unit left over in the engineer's toolbox.

Surely it couldn't be that hard. Both melted metal, just on different scales.

* * *

Ratchet totally called it.

Even while distracting Wheeljack's carrier, the mini medic had a faint creeping dread squirming down his spinal struts, something that told him the green and white was doing something that would explode again. Most likely in a very loud and flashy way.

Half way through his latest story about the medical ward he was learning in, a small tremor rocked the living unit accompanied by a muffled sound, making Ratchet stop and flail his arms for balance.

Being pinned by a glare from the older femme, who just now clued in that the red and white had intentionally distracted her from her creation's current escapade, was a bit worse than the red and white had expected. With a sheepish grin, Ratchet tried to explain. "'Jack's making me some tools?"

Snorting, the older femme gripped the red and white youngling's arm and led him down the hall to Wheeljack's room. Pushing the now broken door open, both had to wait a moment for the smoke to dissipate.

The once green and white, yet again dirtied to soot gray and dingy green, youngling was flat on his back. Missing both hands this time. Catching sight of the mini medic, Wheeljack waved a stump of a arm. "Hiya, Ratch'! Oh . . . hi carrier." With what he hoped was a grin and not a grimace, the green and now gray mechling pushed himself up off the floor by his elbow joints. "Please don't be mad? I was tryin' ta help."

The older femme twitched, as her optics took in just what Wheeljack had been working on. Carefully examining her creation, the femme turned back to Ratchet, who was still in her grip. "You fix 'Jack, and I will not mention any of this to your creator."

" . . . can I keep the tools too?" The mini medic knew he was pushing his luck, but if he was in trouble anyways, he wanted the damn things that got him in trouble.

With one last glance at the toolbox she never found a use for, Wheeljack's carrier nodded. "Sure. We'll just keep them here until you need them."

Ratchet considered that, then nodded back to the femme. "Sounds fair." Walking farther into the green and white's room, the mini medic proceeded to break in his new tools while yelling at Wheeljack for his latest screw up.

Before leaving them alone, the older femme listened to the two arguing younglings for a breem. "Weirdest friendship ever . . ."


	5. Frame Additions

**Summary**: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer**: Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note**: What Wheeljack said is at the bottom, so it is translated for you. Seriously, I have no idea what is going to explode until 'Jack gets his hands on it. I had a list at one time, and completely ignored it in favor of something else. We will have two more guest appearances in the next chapter, cookies for whoever can guess who!

* * *

**Number Five on the List – Frame Additions**

A few more decacycles passed, and a fixed routine for the two younglings had been established by Wheeljack's carrier.

Once she decided on the event for the megacycle, either another trip to the Hall of Records or a requested location from Wheeljack or Ratchet, the two young mechs would debate on whether or not to take the engineering turned medic's tools with them on whatever trip they were taking. The tools usually ended up going, even when Wheeljack complained that there could be nothing explosive at a youngling playground or the Youth Sector's park. The green and white was usually wrong, and the red and white had started to swear that Wheeljack could make anything explode by looking at it.

Wheeljack's carrier had gotten Ratchet a small medic's toolbox to hold his new tools in while they were out of her living unit, in appreciation of the mini medic's work and for saving her piles of credits at the medical district. Although she told, threatened really, her creation that any more tools required would be purchased by her, not invented or retooled by him. Otherwise she would let Ratchet weld him to his berth, causing some snickers from the red and white mini medic and a very sparkling like pout from her green and white youngling.

After blowing up a few more times, only loosing his right pede once in a explosion involving a power transformer and a broken energon dispensing unit in the park, Wheeljack got the bright idea of making his own replacements for the parts he frequently lost. Ratchet had welded his armor and joints together so many times already that the green and white was starting to look like a bot built out of a junk pile covered in a fresh coat of paint.

After all, he had successfully made the tools that repaired him on a regular basis. Surely this couldn't be much harder.

* * *

As with most of his sort of screwy ideas that turned out very different than he expected, this one started with a variation of 'how hard could it be?'

This particular megacycle, the youngling had been taken back to the Hall of Records for more book files for their studies. Wheeljack's carrier, still a bit paranoid at letting the green and white go off by himself, told the two to stick together this time, or they would be restricted to just her living unit.

While Ratchet was looking up more data files on Cybertronian's general anatomy specs and motor system repair charts, Wheeljack started his own search on the building and fabrication of Cybertronians in general, and youngling frames in particular.

After a few breems of mostly silent reading, the green and white found what he was looking for. His frame type was a general built for the sparklings and younglings of crafting orientated bots, one that would usually be upgraded to a type of model used mostly by engineers and constructors. They had his specs and blueprints on the general public server, as well as the proper dimensions and alloys used. They even had some of the extra upgrades schematics and their uses.

More than just a bit fascinated at the possible frame additions, Wheeljack downloaded the results of his search to his data pad to read later. Right now, he needed to find just where one got the metals a Cybertronian was built from.

A joor and a half before his carrier was due to return and pick them up, the green and white mini inventor found what he was looking for. The alloy and metals that Cybertronian were built from were relatively easy to get if you knew where to look, but some were more than a bit expensive. Wheeljack would have no problem making his own extra armor plates and joints, the metals could be found just about anywhere, and a few of the additives for his frame type could easily be built. Although, the green and white wanted to try some of the harder units, and those required some special parts and alloys.

While Ratchet started his own downloads on what files he wanted, keeping an optic on Wheeljack just in case, the green and white pulled up a blank file on his data pad and started plotting.

* * *

Three orns later, having first asked carrier about making his own replacement parts, Wheeljack had been given the storage room to work in. The green and white was allowed to fiddle and tinker to his spark's content, as long as either the older femme or Ratchet was with him. Just in case something went wrong.

Wheeljack's carrier had been both pleased and surprised that her creation wanted to take some responsibility for his appearance, and approved of his suggestion to fabricate his own parts.

The mini medic had been rather surprised that Wheeljack had asked permission to do something, instead of hiding himself away and only being found out when he eventually blew himself up.

Which was why the green and white mini inventor had gotten away with his latest project.

Secretly spiriting away some metal and fabricated parts to his room and hiding them under his berth, Wheeljack was intent on trying out in building and installing some of his frame's additions that he had gotten from the Hall of Records.

Building them under the olfactory sensors of both his carrier and Ratchet was harder than he initially thought it would be, but after a megacycle of very hard and secret work, the mini inventor had finished a few of them.

Now all he needed to do was test them out.

* * *

Being well schooled in what to do when a tremor rocked the living unit, both Wheeljack's carrier and Ratchet dropped what they were doing and bolted to where they last saw the green and white. Slapping her hand over the door controls, both the older femme and the mini medic were more than a little surprised and very worried that Wheeljack was not in the converted storage room. That meant he was either in his room or somewhere they had to look for him.

Ratchet raced to Wheeljack's room, while the older femme took off for the wash room. Both were alternate sites that the mini inventor had used in his 'experiments' in the past.

Ratchet found a Wheeljack shaped hole in the green and white's room. Following the trajectory of the other youngling, the mini medic found his friend in his carrier's room. Missing his left arm and his left pede, and lodged into the opposite wall upside down. With a loud and drawn out groan, Ratchet called out to the older femme. "Found him!"

Once Wheeljack's processor rebooted, and fed him the sight of both his friend and carrier frowning at him from above, the mini inventor tried to defend himself. Key word was try. # ".sdroceR fo llaH eht ni was I gnihtmos gniyrt ylno saw I!" He was going to say more, but when his audios registered just what he said, Wheeljack fell silent in shock.

After replaying what her creation said backwards, the older femme looked at Ratchet in concern. "Is that normal?"

Plugging in a monitor that measured processor damage in those suffering from blunt trauma to the helm, the mini medic hummed for a klick. "I was expecting something like this sooner, but yes. He finally knocked his processor so many times it's almost completely scrambled his vocalizer's programing. The speech problem will wear off in a orn or two, and won't interfere with anything else. It will just be incredibly funny to listen to 'Jack talk for a while." With a smirk, Ratchet pulled the tool free with a hard jerk, making Wheeljack squeal. "Now what have we learned, 'Jack?"

* ".siht ekil hcem nellaf a no kcip ot ,dneirf live a era uoY"

Once the two played that backwards, the mini medic smacked the mini inventor upside the helm, while the older femme degenerated into snickers.

She knew that if Wheeljack could pick a fight with Ratchet, it meant he was fine, for the most part. The older femme just wished her creation would tone his exploding habit a bit, it was almost bad enough to give her a spark attack. Primus help her when Ratchet left for the Academy.

* * *

# _"I was only trying something I saw in the Hall of Records!"_

_* "You are a evil friend, to pick on a fallen mech like this."_


	6. Nitrous Glycerin

**Summary**: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer**: Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note** : Sorry peeps. But I'm taking a bit of a break from writing for a bit. So, no matter how many reviews you lovely reviewers give me, updates for all my stories will resume in a week. And for those of you that guessed, the two guest stars this time are Prowl and Jazz. Enjoy.

* * *

**Number Six on the List – Nitrous Glycerin**

Ratchet had already signed up for his Academy classes, he was going to be an official medic in training soon. Not that he wasn't already, with the sheer number of times he had to repair a green and white youngling with a small explosive problem.

Wheeljack was almost close to throwing a fit that his red and white friend would be unavailable in a decacycle's time. As long as Ratchet was around, his carrier seemed almost calm about the frequent _slight_ issues that popped up when his experiments went wrong.

Wheeljack's carrier had put her pede down. If Ratchet was not present, Wheeljack could not tinker with what he wanted to play with.

After pouting a few joors about the unfairness of it all, the mini inventor had an idea. If the red and white was leaving for the Academy soon, and if Wheeljack wanted to continue on with what he was doing, he would have to go with Ratchet wherever the mini medic went.

That would satisfy his carrier's worries, and let him fiddle to his spark's content.

* * *

At the start of the orn Ratchet was to start his classes, the mini medic was almost what you could call giddy. He wouldn't have to keep and optic on his green and white friend at all times anymore.

No more explosions at odd times, no more scavenging for blasted off parts of a green and white mini inventor, no more Wheeljack.

After spending four joors in the introductory class, Ratchet was almost wishing for the occasional explosions he was used to. This was boring, sitting in a classroom and listening to a mech's vocalizer drone on about what was allowed and what was not.

Optics wandering around the room a bit to keep himself from falling into recharge, Ratchet barely noticed the twitching coming from the mechling seated next to him.

A black and white Praxian framed youngling, to be exact. The young mech's hands and door wings were twitching, almost like he was used to somebot poking him. The black and white's face plate was blank with his optics on the instructor, but his frame seemed tensed, like he was waiting for something to happen.

Optic ridge rising, the mini medic tapped the mech on the shoulder. "What's your problem?" Ratchet kept his own vocalizer quiet, at a level that it would only be audible to the mech next to him.

With a start, the black and white's helm turned to look at the mini red and white medic. Catching sight of his own door wings twitching. With a sigh, the mech returned to look at the instructor again. "I am . . . worried. I have a friend that was not pleased that I came here this orn, and he made certain threats about what would happen if I left him behind."

"A friend? What could he do?" Ratchet turned his optics to the instructor himself, to keep up the appearance that he was paying attention. "This place is suppose to be nearly impenetrable, for our protection."

With a hiss, the black and white's door wings drooped a bit. "That means nothing to Jazz. He has shown that he can and will follow me anywhere, simply to annoy me. Jazz has a bad habit of ignoring the impossible and doing what shouldn't be done." After a moment's pause, he continued. "My designation is Prowl."

"Huh, mine's Ratchet. So, your friend is stalking you?" The red and white tapped his fingers on his desk, mildly amused that some other mech had a problem similar to him. "At least you don't have to deal with a friend that likes to blow up, frequently."

"I . . . beg your pardon? I do not believe I heard that right." Much to the amusement of Ratchet, Prowl had stopped twitching to stare at him in shock.

"My friend's name is Wheeljack. An inventor of a sort." The mini medic indicated the toolbox he had at his side. "He explodes so much his carrier got me tools to fix him when needed. Be happy you never had to go looking for your friend's missing pieces."

Ratchet was now a bit happier. The instructor was still droning on, but he had somebot to talk to.

Or at lease he did, until a explosion rocked the hall.

Most of the young mechs and femmes ran to the exits with the instructor.

Ratchet and Prowl bolted for where the explosion occurred.

* * *

Wheeljack was a bit lost . . . okay, he was very lost.

Finding the Academy was easy. Finding Ratchet was what tripped him up.

He had asked his carrier if he could go to the youngling's park this orn, and not seeing a bad side of getting her creation out of the living unit and away from his tempting projects, the older femme agreed to take him. Slipping away was easy, since Wheeljack's carrier had gotten used to letting Ratchet watch her creation closely while she watched everything else.

Wandering around the city was relatively painless, and a very nice merchant pointed the way to the Academy for him.

Now Wheeljack was wandering the halls, trying to find his red and white friend.

Stopping at a intersection of the hallway, the green and white was so focused on where to go next, he didn't hear the bot coming up behind him.

"So, wha'ch ya lookin' for?" A silver arm suddenly draped itself over Wheeljack's shoulders, making the mini inventor jump.

"Oh! Um . . . hiya. I'm looking for a friend of mine, have you seen him?" The green and white peered hopefully into the black visor the other mech wore. "He's red an white, and got a bad temper. His name's Ratchet."

"Mmm. Sorry, nope." With a grin, the silver mechling pulled Wheeljack farther along, down the left hallway. "But I'm also lookin for a frien of mine as well. We can help each other fin em, yeah?"

"Erm . . . sure." Help was always helpful, right? The two wandered down the new hallway together, occasionally opening doors to peer inside.

This continued on for about a joor, the two would crack a door open and look though the rooms if nobot was there, or try and find their respective friends.

After Wheeljack shut his latest door a bit harder than he intended, the young silver mech turned to look at him with a raised optic ridge.

"This is getting us nowhere fast. I vote we do something that draws our friends to us." Crossing his arms over his chassis, the green and white ran everything they had already seen through his processor.

The silver mech just stared at him. "Like wha'? Prowlie doesn' come when I call em."

"But Ratchet dose when I explode something. Wanna bet your 'Prowlie' follows when Ratch' runs for us?" Wheeljack gestured to the both of them. "We found each other, our friends could have met up as well."

"Now, your speakin my language. Lead on, mech."

* * *

Ratchet and Prowl found their respective friends in the Science Wing. The silver mechling named Jazz was waiting for them outside of one of the classrooms, looking more than just a bit traumatized.

"He purposely blew himself up, Prowlie! You gots ta believe meh!" The young silver mech draped himself over Prowl, ignoring the red and white mech that snickered at the both of them as he passed. "I didn' tell him ta or anythin'!"

"I do believe you, Jazz. Now let go." Prying his stalker friend off, the black and white Praxian peered into the smoky room after Ratchet.

As the smoke cleared, both youngling waiting outside of the classroom could hear a rather torqued medic yelling and the muddled reply from another mech.

"'Jack! How many fingers am I holding up!"

"Urgh, Ratch'? Why are there three of you?"

Jazz whined, still clinging to Prowl. "I'm never gonin ta try an follow you again, Prowlie. I swear it."

Prowl twitched at the clangs coming from inside the room, and continued to pry the silver mechling off him. "That would be preferable, but I do not believe you."

Both younglings stepped back as the red and white mini medic appeared, dragging a dingy gray and green mech behind him. Or most of a mech. The other youngling was missing both arms and a leg, and was giggling.

Ratchet pinned both of the other young mechs with a glare. "Make yourselves useful, and find the other parts of 'Jack." When they both gaped at him, the mini medic lost what restraint he had left. "NOW YOU SLAGGERS!"

"Ooh, Ratch'. You swore. I'm gonna tell carrier on you!" Wheeljack fell back into uncontrollable giggles again.


	7. Light Fixtures

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note** : Back from my break, with one story completely edited and another halfway done, hooray! But then again, that other story is almost fifty chapters long.

To answer a quick question from **writergurl616**: Nitrous Glycerin, the stuff Wheeljack was playing with in the last chapter, is the greenish (I think it's green) looking byproduct of sweating TNT sticks in hot climates. It is extremely volatile, and can explode by simply tapping the outside of the container gently. Which caused a whole lot of problems back in the Old American West, when they used TNT for blowing the train tunnels through mountains, in the desert. 'Jack was laughing cause he finally got to play with it, and the giddiness might have been added to by the energon loss he was suffering from.

**Wannabe Starscream**, you _cheater_. I think that still counts for the three reviews until a update, though. Almost made me feel guilty about not updating last week . . . almost.

Thanks to the rest of you that reviewed while I was away, and now, on with this Cybertronian style train wreck that you just can't look away from. Bet you all fifty credits it ain't what your thinking.

* * *

**Number Seven on the List – Light Fixtures**

Wheeljack's carrier was torqued at him after Ratchet escorted the mostly repaired and still giggling mini inventor home, after the mini medic finished his classes at the Academy.

Not that she was surprised by her creation's antics in anyway. The green and white youngling had been looking forward to playing with the explosive chemicals that were available to the students in the Academy, and the giggling coming from her youngling, that had not died down even a bit yet, was starting to scare her.

But she was of the opinion that running off to the Academy after Ratchet was more than a bit irresponsible of her youngling, since he had at least another vorn, at the earliest, to go until he would be going himself.

So after she finished yelling at her still giddy creation, Wheeljack's carrier thanked Ratchet and the two young mechs he introduced to her as Prowl and Jazz. Then sent them off with a few energon goodies for keeping an optic on her mechling, and for getting him out of the Academy grounds without explaining why he was there to the staff.

Then, she turned her attention to punishing the mini inventor. She grounded Wheeljack. To his room, without any of the young mech's tools or projects. At least, any that she knew of.

Really, taking in account just how fervently the red and white mini medic swore that 'Jack could make anything explode by looking at it, she should have known that her creation would get into trouble again.

* * *

A mere decacycle after being grounded, Wheeljack had hit upon an idea on how to pass the time.

He still had a few of the projects left from messing with his frame, _and_ a few tools that were missed from his carrier's initial inspection of his room. 'Jack also had a few data pads with some information that was not widely available to most bots.

One of the frame additions, a set of vocalizer fins that would flash different colors depending on the mood of the mech they were installed in, only required a complete circuit board to be finished.

A circuit board, that just so happens to be quite similar to the ones used in general purpose door controls, according to the data pads.

Like the one in Wheeljack's room.

The green and white mini inventor giggled quietly to himself about having something new to do, then set about to make or scrounge up the tools required.

He would need one of the screwdrivers and the soldering tool imbedded in the wall under his berth, left over from making some of Ratchet's tools. He would also need some lengths of wire, those could be pulled from the few toys still in the room or even the data pads, if he needed longer bits of wire. Dismantling the door control would have to wait until later in the orn, after the evening refueling.

But Wheeljack could start now, and be ready with the tools he needed by the time carrier hit her berth for the off cycle.

* * *

After his carrier had gone to recharge, Wheeljack got started with finishing his new project.

He had already pulled the tools free from his wall, and had a few short lengths of wire, for both soldering and the wiring needed for the project. All he needed now, he hoped, was the circuit board in the door controls.

After pulling the control panel apart, and rewiring it so it wouldn't lock but still close, the mini inventor carefully broke the connections from the circuit board to the wires in the door.

Once it was free, Wheeljack compared the board to the schematic he had. Thankfully, it looked like it would work, but he needed more heavy grade wire, for connecting the board to the fins, that what he had.

Quietly breaking open one of his data pads, the mini inventor had to stifle a groan of disappointment. The wire in the data pads were not the type he needed, and were the wrong length.

Throwing himself on his berth with a huff, Wheeljack's optics landed on the light fixture in his room.

Racking his processor over what would contain the need grade of wire, the mini inventor nearly started to laugh out loud. He was staring at the solution to his problem.

The wiring used in construction would work. It was a bit more heavy duty than he needed, but that would be fine, right? Even preferable, as it would take more to damage it in anyway.

Now all he needed was to get up there, and pull some out of the ceiling.

* * *

Ratchet was getting that creepy feeling down his spinal struts again. The same one that usually preceded one of Wheeljack's frequent explosions. That feeling had been developed into a very accurate warning system, well exercised by the green and white's usual orn to orn antics.

The red and white mini medic had a joor or so until his class started, so in the interest of getting rid of that annoying itch, Ratchet made his way to Wheeljack's living unit.

Just to check on 'Jack, for the mini medic's peace of processor.

He was greeted by Wheeljack's carrier, who seemed amused and agitated in equal parts by Ratchet's own worry. The femme let him in anyways. "I'm getting the same feeling. You don't think 'Jack would do something stupid just because he was bored, right?"

"This is 'Jack we are talking about." The red and white mini medic traced his way to Wheeljack's room, a well traveled path that both the young mech and older femme had taken together many times before. "He made a data pad explode. In pieces or not, that's hard to do. I'm not putting anything beyond his abilities."

With a sniff, the older femme palmed the door control. And then stared at it when the door failed to open. "Strange, it worked last cycle. Wonder what-"

A loud crash cut her off.

Both bots stared at the stubbornly closed door for a breem. They could faintly hear Wheeljack trying to be quiet and curse at something at the same time.

Ratchet sighed and rubbed his optics. "I'm gonna go to class, and come back with my tools. If you can get 'Jack to open the door by the time I get back, I will be impressed." The mini medic turned to leave, but stopped and turned back around at the sudden opening of the seemingly broken door.

Wheeljack,who was standing behind the door, looked at both his carrier and his best friend, then gave them both a sheepish smile. "Um . . . oops?"

"What do you mean by 'oops', creation of mine?" The older femme crouched down in order to stare into her green and white youngling's own optics at the same level.

Wheeljack's sheepish smile turned into a grimace as he pulled his left arm out from behind his back. He was missing his hand, again. "I . . . uh, fell."

"Fell? That's it? You didn't explode, and lose it that way?" Ratchet was suspicious of the other youngling's claim. Wheeljack always exploded, it was a very solid fact of life. It was _never_ a simple accident with the green and white. And he _still_ had that creepy feeling in his back struts.

Wheeljack snorted. "Dose it sound like I exploded? All I did was fall! Well, from a decent height off the floor, and my hand was in the ceiling." Wheeljack paused to examined his stump of a wrist joint. "It might still be up there."

As soon as the green and white finished his sentence, something on the ceiling inside his room began to throw sparks. At the hissing noise that accompanied it, Wheeljack suddenly darted out while he palmed his side of the controls.

An astrosecond after the door hissed shut, a muffled boom could be heard, making all three bots flinch.

The mini inventor cringed in the resulting silence and stared at the floor, stubbornly not looking up at the two carefully watching him for any other delayed explosions. "Now, I blew up. Well . . . my hand did." With a quick peek to his best friend to judge how mad he was now, the green and white turned his attention to his carrier. "Dose that count? It wasn't even connected to me at the time."

Ratchet gritted his dental plates in a futile effort to keep from smacking Wheeljack. "_Yes_, 'Jack. That counts." The mini medic gave in to his violent urge, and smacked the mini inventor upside the helm when all Wheeljack did was smile at him. Or cringe, it was hard to tell.

* * *

_AN#2: So? Do I win the fifty credits, or what?_


	8. The Medical Bay Upgrade

**Summary**: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer**: Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note**: I won one hundred credits from the last chapter and some cookies! Whoo me! I think. I might have won more, but no one else is telling. ;P

And . . . wow. Seven reviews for chapter seven. I know I said three and so until the next chapter, but you all are wearing me out. So, this story will update twice per week, peeps. Or I will run out of ideas for the story, and I'm sure none of you want that. I can be convinced to write more, but holy cow.

The pace of the story is going to pick up a bit. Not much of a story if only one of the main characters is off doing something else. There is a nod to **writergurl616** in this chapter, see if you can find it.

I have a question **Yami Dragoness of Dark**. How do you blow up bacon? Regardless, that is the coolest thing I have ever heard. Props, chicka.

* * *

**Number Eight on the List – The Medical Bay Upgrade**

Two vorns had passed, and both Ratchet and Wheeljack were both attending in the Academy. The two had not stopped bickering whenever they met up, whether it was in the medical training wing, the engineering bays, or just around campus.

Wheeljack had acquired a rather notorious reputation for his explosions since the inventor's first visit to the Academy. Rumors around the campus had the green and white as a bit of a pyromaniac, since every three to four orns something would inevitably explode in one of the labs that Wheeljack was learning in. Another rumor speculated on the fact that the inventor was a good friend of one of the medics, and that was the only reason he was still even alive.

Even the instructors were wary of the young inventor. Only one of the teacher's aids, a mech by the name of Perceptor, would assist Wheeljack in planning out his projects. The two could usually be seen either in the labs or in the main lounge, pouring over data pads of calculations and formulas. It was usually Perceptor that conducted the experiments, on Ratchet's exasperated order, to hopefully keep the green and white mini inventor in one piece.

Ratchet himself was _vorns _ahead of his class, and he was the darling of the medical professors. There was nothing the red and white mini medic couldn't fix, and everybot knew why. Because, once something inevitably blew up, Ratchet high tailed it to Wheeljack's current location. Aided by a tracking chip one smirking Jazz cobbled together, and that was welded into Wheeljack's chassis by the mini medic on one orn the green and white inventor needed his chest plates repaired.

Missing limbs, broken optics and audios, cracked or shattered armor plates, scrambled programming, prying one foolish and giggling inventor out of the wall. The young medic did it all, usually with a lot of cursing and the bare minimum of gentleness.

Ratchet's rather acidic personality was excused, since the instructors didn't want to annoy the only youngling training medic that repaired the walking bomb of an inventor. Besides, they reasoned, what medic worth their alloys wouldn't be aggravated by the antics of Wheeljack?

It was a common sight to see the red and white medic yelling at the green and white inventor, about as common as seeing smoke and fire pouring out of the engineering bays, usually twice per megacycle. Almost everybot could eventually hear the medic yelling, and those closest to the two usually had to stifle their own laughter at the witty replies that Wheeljack made to Ratchet's accusations.

The first time anybot had the bearings to laugh at the medic, a smirking artistic orientated mech by the designations of Sunstreaker, he was nailed between the optics by the wrench that Ratchet had handy. It was also the last time anybot was foolish enough to agree with something Wheeljack said after an explosion.

Even though it was common to come across the two in an ongoing argument, usually with lots of cursing by the medic, it also wasn't that unusual to see the two putting their helms together to work out a problem one of the two had.

The reason Wheeljack's antics were tolerated instead of being punished, was because the inventor was one of the most brilliant processors the Academy had in residence. The others were two seeker framed mech by the names of Starscream and Skyfire, and a mech by the name of Shockwave. While two of the mechs were only concerned with their own work, and were considered to be arrogant little glitches, Skyfire and Wheeljack were concerned with everything. The two and Perceptor could be approached about small and large problems, usually something to do with malfunctioning doors and cleaning drones, or upgrades and repair needed for the training tools used by the students.

Usually, most bots approached Wheeljack, even with his record of exploding, since Skyfire was a very large and imposing seeker and Preceptor's ever expanding vocabulary had most confused in the first sentence.

* * *

The start of the list, even though it was at eight events already, started the orn that Wheeljack was helping Perceptor with the upgrades to the medic's training equipment for welding.

Most of the students had already retired to their berths for the cycle by the time the upgrades started, leaving Wheeljack, Preceptor, and Ratchet all alone in the medical training wing. The no longer so mini medic, he had gotten his second to last upgrade and was the same height as Preceptor, was watching the engineer in training and the teaching aide scientist closely as they started the upgrades.

"Really, Ratch'. You think I could handle any minor repairs needed until the next orn." Wheeljack was concentrating on the power system of a faulty welding unit, carefully checking the flow of energon that seemed to be leaking somewhere. "You taught me some repair, remember."

"And you think that qualifies you to handle your own slagging repair work?" Ratchet snorted from his position on the other side of the first vorn training repair bay. The medic was present only because of Wheeljack's less than stellar reputation had concerned the other medics in training, and the students had asked Ratchet to keep an optic on his friend. "Your not that fragging stupid, 'Jack."

"I feel I must agree with the sole medic responsible, faithfully and consistently may I add, for the numerous repairs you required for the frequent and severe detonations, Wheeljack." Preceptor's vocalizer sounded from the older mech's position under the welding unit he was upgrading. "Although we do possess the needed expertise and training to fabricate the numerous items needed by the medically inclined, we have a lack of acquired knowledge concerning the stable repairs any unfortunate happenings of ours would require."

Wheeljack just snorted, but Ratchet, who had only caught a few words out of the teacher's aid's little spiel, nodded. "Sides, why wait for your eventual slagging boom in the dorms, when I can be right here with you, pit-spawn?"

The engineer in training straighten up from where he was, turning to glare at his friend. The vocalizer fins he had made long ago flashing a faint purplish blue. "I resent that. But since you are here, can you go get me some power capacitors? The one on this unit is leaking everywhere."

The medic glared, but nodded and left the two to the upgrades.

* * *

Ratchet was on his way back to the medical wing when something caused a familiar shiver to run down his spinal struts. "My Wheeljack sense is tingling . . . slag."

He was proven right when a loud boom sounded ahead, and the building rocked with tremors.

With a heavy sigh, the medic started to run down the abandoned halls to the repair bay he left the two other mechs in.

He found Preceptor standing outside of the bay with a grim expression. "I can not conceive on the sheer dedication to health and maintenance you must posses in macro sized quantities, Ratchet."

"What the frag was it this time?" The medic pulled his tools out of his subspace, warily regarding the hazy smoke curling it's way out of the bay.

"Wheeljack was pondering on the varied alternative uses of the internals in the welding unit he was preoccupied with the repair of." The teacher's aide shifted around a bit, catching the optics of the medic. "I must profess that I was distracted from the usual level of guard you recommended."

"Happens to the best of us, Percy. Even to me, once." Ratchet patted the other mech on the back as he cautiously entered the bay to find his friend.

It was unnervingly silent for the aftermath of a Wheeljack explosion. Usually the mini inventor was either laughing so hard that the medic could find him easily, or cursing the latest project to blow up in his face plate. Ratchet cautiously paced the length of the bay, optics scanning for the green and white engineering student.

The reason it was so silent was made apparent once the medic finally found his oldest friend.

* * *

When Preceptor heard Ratchet laughing, the teacher's aide became worried. Usually the medic was swearing after Wheeljack exploded, not rolling on the floor and holding his sides as he laughed like his processor just broke. As the older mech carefully made his way to the bay to see just what was going on, Preceptor had to turn away to keep himself from joining the medic.

Wheeljack was flash welded to a repair berth.

Not only that, but the younger mech had lost his jaw hinges and only had the upper face plate and one of his vocalizer fins still attached. His left arm was missing, and the engineer was glaring at the medic while supporting his helm with his right hand.

:This is not that funny, Ratch'.: Since Wheeljack no longer possesed a jaw, the engineer could not speak properly, and was restricted to using the internal comms to communicate. :Seriously, this is starting to hurt.:

Ratchet died down to the occasional snickers and snorts, still laying on the floor. "That's it. I'm writing this slag down and posting it on the walls of the medical bays. I wonder how long it will get until you learn not to mess with everything and anything you get a hold of?"

Preceptor twitched at the idea, processor focused on trying to figure the odds of that ever happening. "May I suggest a future project once you are released from the tender mercy of our mutual medically inclined acquaintance, Wheeljack? You may require some additional protection for your more vulnerable systems. I recommend the adaption and alterations of the numerous protections available to working class bots."

:That's not a bad idea, Percy.: Wheeljack's optics wandered around as he thought about some of the more unusual upgrades that the welders and chemist sometimes used. :I wonder if I can . . . Hey! I see my jaw up there!:

Preceptor and Ratchet both looked up, and sure enough, Wheeljack's missing jaw was lodged in the ceiling.

* * *

It was never recovered, even _vorns_ after the two graduated the Academy, top of their respective classes.

Horror stories would be told to the following generations of younglings about a brilliant engineer that exploded at the drop of a pin and a miraculous medic with a temper from the pit that habitually repaired him.

The jaw plate that everybot could see lodged in the ceiling was said to be the only remains of the one bot stupid enough to torque the medic off.


	9. Jazz

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note** : No, I didn't skip a chapter, you missed one. Seven and Eight updated on the same day, and I think a few people missed it.

**Fields-of-Heather** : Chicken heart? Interesting, but you know that the little ideas that you all share will make their debut in this story when 'Jack finally gets to Earth, right? Regardless, ew. Just, ew, hot chicken bits.

**Critter biter** : Working with explosives, but blows up with a alien? Interesting. Sounds like Earth. Did you know there is a type of tree here that uses a type of explosion to scatter it's seeds? All I can remember about it was that it used water as a propellent. And yes, that will happen. Just wait and see.

**Writergurl616 **: I'm almost afraid to ask what that purple thing was. Did it fade at all? Is it now violet in color? And yes I used that. I laughed when I read it in your review, and decided it was going in.

* * *

**Number Nine on the List - Jazz**

Wheeljack and Ratchet were sitting in the students' lounge two orns after the engineer in training had blown up the first vorn medical training welding equipment. It was also the orn that Wheeljack finally managed to convince the rather torqued medics to pry him off the berth he had gotten flash welded to.

The two were working on their own data pads, but the engineer was sending shifty glances at the pad Ratchet was working on. "I can't believe you remembered that. It was almost a vorn ago."

"It was our first slagging meeting." The medic had a large grin on his face plate, causing all the other students to avoid the two with a wide margin, fully enjoying the discomfort his little side project was causing his best friend. "I was so smart then."

"Running from the sight of me was not . . . not, slag." Wheeljack had given up on calculating the exact temperature he needed, the one required to melt a mix of copper and iron together, in order to glare at his friend.

"See? Even you fragging admit it." Ratchet snickered at the glare he was getting. "What did you do, anyways? From what I can recall, you said something about some slagging colors."

"I'm not telling you." The engineer crossed his arms over his chassis, frowning at the data pad in the medic's hands.

Ratchet just shrugged as he kept snickering. "I'll ask your carrier the next time we visit her." At the gaping expression that earned him, the mech laughed harder. "You know she'll tell me."

Wheeljack groaned when he realized the medic was right. "Why do you visit my carrier with me anyways?"

Ratchet shrugged again. "My creator gets the reports of my training and sends me a message every decacycle or so saying he and carrier are proud of me. That's the best I can hope for with my creators." The medic huffed, then shook his helm. "Sides, I have better memory files about you and your carrier. I was almost living with you by the time I left to come here."

"True . . . aw, frag. It was cleaning supplies." At the rather lost look his friend gave him, the engineer slumped down to lean on the table between the two. "My first explosion. Carrier had been cleaning, and I wanted to skip bath joor later, and the containers were available . . . and you know the rest."

'And as usual,' Ratchet thought as he wrote that down, 'Jack puts one and one together and gets five.'

Before the medic could start writing the next event that he could remember where the engineer lost his left hand again, the two were interrupted by the only mech they both agreed needed a new processor.

Starscream sauntered his way over to smirk at the two seated mechs. "I just heard you managed to blow up in the medical bay, Wheeljack. Congrats. At least this time you didn't need to go far to get your low class aft fixed."

Ratchet set his dental plates together in an attempt to refrain from shuddering at the screeching vocalizer on the seeker scientist. "You really should get that malfunctioning vocalizer of yours checked, _Screamer_. It's starting to sound like you strangled a slagging cybercat and stuffed it down your fragged up throat."

Ruby red optics glared at the medic. "I will not ask where you picked up such a deplorable vocabulary from, _Hatchet. _I think it's rather obvious."

"Aint it also obvious they don't wanna have you talk ta 'em?" Jazz smirked as the seeker jumped in fright. Prowl had pointed out the medic and engineer from across the room, and the Enforcer in training had wanted the silver youngling to prevent another incident like the last one.

The one where _Wheeljack _of all mechs blew up at another. Usually the engineer was a pretty calm bot, the only mech to ever get under Wheeljack's plating was the seeker now in front of them. The contents of the argument was not known to any but the two, but the results were spectacular. Starscream refused to tell anybot on just how his armor plating had disintegrated in the middle of the fight.

The seeker's optics flickered from the silver youngling to the black and white coming up behind him, and to the two still seated at the table. "Tch. Fine." With a last round of glares, Starscream sauntered off to find the rest of his trine.

"Sup, mechs?" Jazz slid into an unoccupied seat at the table with a grin. Prowl had better manners, and waited for Ratchet to extend a hand in invitation to take his own.

"Hiya, Jazz! You finally settle on a job yet?" Wheeljack's fins flashed greenish blue at the two.

The silver youngling just grinned at the aggravated groan that came from the Enforcer in training. It was widely known that Jazz had _not _picked a job class to be trained in yet, and it was privately known to all sitting at the table that the silver mech never would. Jazz wanted a general skill set, then he proclaimed that he would only hang around until his 'Prowlie' finished his own classes. Much to the dismay of the Enforcer in training.

Ratchet snickered at the black and white's distress. "You know you encourage him when you do that, right?"

Prowl peeked up at the medic, mentally weighing that logic against about a vorn of experience with the silver youngling. "Everything encourages Jazz, Ratchet. I could have no emotion when I talk, and he would still pick up on something to twist for his amusement."

The silver mech snickered at his friend slash stalking victim as he kicked his pedes up onto the table. "Speaking of which, I need meh some medical skills, Ratch'. So, I'll be seeing ya soon."

"What the slag do you intend to do, you delinquent?" The medic glared at the visored mech as he laughed. "Take on a fragging army? I've lost count on how many different jobs you already tried."

"That's the beut of it, no bot can tell what I'm doin." Jazz pushed himself far enough to flip over backwards and landed on his pedes. "Why limit yarself ta one thang, when ya can do it all?"

Wheeljack clapped for the silver mech's show of acrobatics, gaining a slap upside the helm from Ratchet.

Prowl huffed as he got up as well. "I need to leave for my next class. Ratchet, Wheeljack." The Enforcer in training nodded to the still seated mechs, then turned flat optics on his stalker. "Delinquent."

"Hey, now! Tha hurts, Prowlie." Jazz grasped his chest plate as if Prowl had shot him, thudding to the floor on his knee joints. "Hurts real bad, my mech." The silver mech grinned as the Enforcer in training just looked at him before walking away. "So, 'Jack."

The engineer blinked at the sensation of being inspected by a visor wearing mech. "Yes?"

"We has got a problem." Jazz sat back down on Prowl's abandoned chair with a grin.

Ratchet groaned. "I didn't hear that." The medic subspaced the data pad he was working on and hurriedly vacated his own chair. "Got class, don't explode, slaggers."

As Ratchet left the lounge, a trickle crept down his spinal struts. The medic paused and looked back to a silver visored mech and a green and white engineer that seemed to be talking about something in great detail, before leaving with a frown in place.

He bet fifty credits that something bad was about to happen.

* * *

By the end of the orn's classes, nobot had seen either the silver youngling or the green and white engineer since the two left the lounge, and both Prowl and Ratchet were getting worried. Even the tracker that Jazz had given the medic was not working.

Their respective friends were hard to handle apart, and them missing together had most of the campus security fritzing. An unofficial search had been instituted, with students posted at the many entrances and exits and the instructors with the medic and Enforcer in training were conducting a search.

When Ratchet suddenly froze and shuddered, everybot around hit the deck.

The lack of an explosion confused most of the bots, until the medic started cursing at the top of his vocalizer. "WHAT THE _FRAG_ DO YOU MEAN BY 'OOPS', YOU TWISTED REFUSE FROM A SLAGGING JUNK PILE!"

In the ringing silence that came after Ratchet yelled, most bots figured that the medic was being commed by the missing engineer and decided disappearing would be the wisest course of action. It was never a good thing when Ratchet yelled.

So, only Prowl was nearby to witness the third time Ratchet broke down laughing at the misfortune of Wheeljack.

Once the Enforcer in training had gotten the medic back to somewhat working order, mostly by staring at the red and white mech as he rolled around laughing at his pedes, Ratchet finally told him where the two missing mechs where.

* * *

Wheeljack glumly looked over to the smirking Jazz. The engineer could barely make out the other mech in the dim lighting supplied by the service tunnels. "This is not that funny. Ratch' is going to deactivate me for this."

"Ya gotta admit, it's ironic, 'Jack." The now somewhat taller silver mech snickered at the hanging engineer. "How long has it been since ta last time ya went boom?"

Wheeljack had managed to blow himself through a floor, and was now part of a ceiling. Sheering off both arms, and with a cracked optic from his latest mishap. "How was I to know you kept a supply of paint thinner in that compartment?"

"Ask, maybe?" Jazz brushed his new chest plates. "Gotta thank ya, though. Like the upgrade ya did for meh."

"You had most of the parts, it was easy." The engineer gave the silver mech a painful smile. "Though, why did you need me to . . ."

"Top secret, mech." Jazz touched the edge of his new visor in a salute. "Good luck with ta Hatchet, 'Jack. But I gotta run."

"Coward! Get back here!" Wheeljack kicked his legs and wiggled, as if he could run and catch the slippery mech and drag him back to face a most likely fragged off medic with him.

The engineer froze when he heard Ratchet's voice coming from above him.

"Hold still, Slagger. This will hurt, a lot."


	10. System Test

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note** : Really have nothing to say for myself on this one.

**Juicetin Boo **: Wax? Why would you microwave wax? I wanna do it!

**Wannabe Starscream **: Yes I knew. I had to google it the first time I read that. It will make a showing in the story somewhere.

**writergurl616** : Rubber doll on the ceiling. There are so many ways to take that.

**Reality Bores Me** : Nice. Just, nice. I had not thought of that when I started writing this story, wonder if anyone will take that and run with it?

* * *

**Number Ten on the List – System Test**

Wheeljack managed to go most of a vorn without blowing large parts of himself off, again.

Considering the fact that Ratchet had not let the green and white engineer live down the two very close together explosions, and most of the student body was now invested in keeping Wheeljack from becoming wall art again due to the structural stability of the rest of the Academy, the engineer had easily refrained from another demolitions classed explosion.

Not that it meant much to the two a megacycle explosions that most of the Academy was used to. The only time that died down was the two orns that the engineer had taken to get his own second to last frame upgrade.

In the intervening time, Ratchet had finished the list he had promised Wheeljack he was making, and the medic in training had posted it for all to see. It wasn't in the medical training wing as Ratchet had promised, the data pad had a spot of honor on the student's lounge wall, for all to see.

That list had given the engineer a bad feeling when the medic had been writing it, and after it was posted he knew why.

Wheeljack would be asked at random times by many bots if he really did start blowing himself up as a sparkling, and if data pads could really explode. The engineer had tried to explain himself, but the mechs and femmes that asked usually walked away laughing after he said yes he did, and yes they do.

In fact, Ratchet was rather proud of the detailed list he had compiled, and threatened Wheeljack that it would always be posted on the walls where he worked if the engineer blew himself up one more time.

The care and effort Wheeljack put into not exploding had earned some respect from the instructors, but he lost it all when he finally messed up again.

The second to last frame that engineers were upgraded to had numerous and fascinating tools and sensors imbedded into the systems. One of which Wheeljack theorized could be made a bit better with a little know how.

A sensor net that measured the reactions of every orn occurrences, like the grade of energon and the flow of energy in certain systems, could be turned to evaluating the reactions of unstable chemicals when introduced to other elements that were known to cause violent reactions.

Unfortunately, Wheeljack had to blow something up to test his hypothesis and the modifications he worked into his own systems. It would have to be either large or excessively unstable in order to test the altered sensor net.

Working under the cover of mere post upgrade system checks to escape the usual guard that Ratchet and Perceptor usually kept him under, the engineer cobbled together a few chemicals that he knew would enable a full test of his idea.

The engineers' training bays did not survive the test.

* * *

Ratchet was working on a poor unsuspecting bot when a large and audio shattering boom sounded. The entirety of the Academy shuddered in the ringing quite left behind, throwing quite a few bots to the floors and shaking almost everything off the walls.

The bot the medic had been working on had been one of those thrown to the floor, and he crawled under the repair berth before the yelling could start.

Ratchet twisted around in time to see the bays that normally housed Wheeljack at that time of the orn crumble in a large cloud of smoke and flying bits of debris.

The medic twitched at the sight. Ratchet had the sinking feeling in his spark that maybe this time his green and white friend would not be laughing his way through this one.

Until the engineer himself timidly inquired over the comms if he was busy. :Ratch'? I think I need some help here.:

* * *

It took most of the construction orientated bots three joors to dig Wheeljack and the bulk of his assorted parts out of the ruins of the bays, and drag them over to the spot Ratchet had claimed to reassemble his friend.

The engineer's helm had managed to stay connected to his chassis, but the rest of Wheeljack's assorted bits would be dug up over the course of the next two megacycles. A few finger joints and bits of armor that managed to escape the construction mechs and femmes popping up at the weirdest times.

Ignoring the warnings that the medical trainers tried to give, Ratchet pulled Wheeljack out of stasis just to hear what had gone through the other mech's processor.

With a few flickers of his optics, the engineer blearily looked around once he was awake. "Ratch'? I don't . . . feel so good."

The medic snorted as he carefully turned his friend over. "That's not too surprising. What the frag were you cooking up in that overly battered processor of yours?"

"Er . . . yeah. That." Wheeljack managed a lopsided grin to give the medic. "Testing."

" . . . and just what the slag is that suppose to mean?" Ratchet narrowed his optics, one hand gripping his favorite wrench.

The engineer whined, and off lined his own optics. "Testing a, uh, modification I did to one of my systems. It required something big to be an adequate field test." Wheeljack waited a breem for something to come out of his friend, then warily peeked at the other mech. "Ratch'?"

The last thing the engineer saw for a solid megacycle, was the wrench Ratchet had gripped in his hand.


	11. First Weaponry Alterations

**Summary **: Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer **: Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try this at home.

**Author's Note**: I'm really sorry it took me so long, but this chapter is extra long to make up for the wait. Technically, this was written and ready about two weeks ago, but I couldn't update my stories for some reason. FYI, I am rather limited on internet use for the next few months, so this will be the last update for a while.

**AngleOfSweetDeath **: A hair straightener and three t.v.s? Dare I ask 'how?'

**WannabeStarscream **: Your a cheater because I said so. And for submitting three reviews in a row on the same day, on three different chapters, back when I had the three reviews for an update thing going. See? I win!

**Ladyleyn **: I like the chaos, I have to admit. And that's really cute, that your neice responds like that.

**writergurl616 **: Like I said before, Cybertronian style train wreck. Just sit back and watch, cause you can't look away.

**Kai-Chan94** : What can we say? It's a handy little plot device.

**Gorky **: That's why we love him! You can't tell me you hate Wheeljack, it simply isn't possible.

* * *

**Number Eleven on the List – First Weaponry Alterations**

Wheeljack revved quietly as he stared in the general direction of the instructors. The young engineer wondered if he could off line from boredom, since he had sat through the safety class fifty seven times already in the bare vorn he had been attendance at the Academy.

The class was normally given just to the bots that newly arrived, a brief overview of the hazards that could plague any profession. There would be another mandatory class given to the new bots, after they made their career choice known or finally picked one, about the hazards of their future jobs.

Wheeljack had to attend two of the safety classes repeatedly, the general one he was currently sitting through and the class given to engineers and those in construction. He had to attend because not only did Ratchet sign him up every time there was another class, but because the staff that ran the Academy held out the increasingly vague hope that something covered in the classes might keep the mini inventor from blowing something else up.

The inventor's optics wandered around the room, thoroughly annoyed and ignoring the information given in the class that he had heard almost every two or three stellar cycles. Mild indifference was stamped on the face plate of the young mech as he wallowed in his boredom.

So intent on ignoring the instructor, Wheeljack almost missed a somewhat familiar mech sitting in the audience with him. A black painted mech, one that the mini inventor recalled from one of his memories with Ratchet to the Hall of Records.

Raising an optic ridge, the mini inventor had thought he was the only bot made to take the safety classes over and over, he noted the mech's features and vowed to find out why it was he was there too.

Barely curbing his impatience, Wheeljack willed the next three joors to go faster. He finally had something new to do.

* * *

Ironhide had grudgingly attended the remedial safety course, only because the instructors had forbidden him to attending his classes until he went. Apparently, they didn't like it when one of the bodyguards in training decided to modify his own training weaponry so they actually fired live rounds, instead of the temporary stunners they were designed to be used with.

Needless to say, the young black painted mech was more than just a bit torqued with the instructors at the moment. The older bots even had the bearings to confiscate Ironhide's altered equipment, refusing to give them back to him, and that made the young mech even more angry.

Once the class let the young bots out, Ironhide remained in his seat as they rushed pass. The others were intent on their newly acquired freedom, the slightly older mech just wanted his equipment back and was prepared to stalk the instructors until they gave them back to him.

So intent on glaring a hole in the instructor's helm, Ironhide missed Wheeljack's approach entirely, up until the other mech startled him by speaking up right behind the black bodyguard. "Hiya! Whatcha doing here?"

Ironhide jerked around at the way too cheerful voice behind him. His optics locked onto a green and white mech that looked vaguely familiar to him. "Who are ya?"

"My name's Wheeljack." The smiling mech took a seat next to the bodyguard, content to wait out the press of students with the other mech. "So? Whatcha doing here? Your a bit to old to just be starting out here."

The black mech narrowed his optics. The name rang a mental bell that the appearance didn't. Ironhide remembered this mech, both from personal experience and by the rumors and stories that frequently made their way through the student rumor mill. "Ironhide. Was told ta be here 'cause the instructors don't like it when ya try ta improve yer own equipment." The black mech tilted his helm as a few of the rumors he heard recently resurfaced in his processor. "Why are ya here?"

"Have to. One one side, I have a very easily alarmed friend. On the other, the instructors are tired of my habit of blowing up frequently and hoped that if I repeated this class, I would stop." Wheeljack rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly, fins flashing a pinkish red, before changing the subject. "What did you improve to land yourself here?"

"My trainin weapons. Wanted ta see what ta difference between ta tranin equipment an ta real thing." Ironhide gestured to the instructor that had yet to leave the mass auditorium used for large classes. "They took my altered weapons, an refuse ta give em back ta me."

"Pity." The mini inventor regarded the other young mech for a breem as the last of the students left the room. Wheeljack finally raised an optic ridge as the instructor left. "Did you even get to try them out?"

"Naw. Took em before ah could test em." Ironhide raised an optic ridge himself as he studied the mech next to him. "What are ya thinking, an how much trouble will we get in ta?"

"Cant tell you here, but we will most likely get into a lot of trouble." The mini inventor rubbed his hands together before jumping to his pedes. "But I can promise you will love it." Wheeljack looked around for any bots around that might warn Ratchet before he could get to the engineering bays. "Meet me at the firing range when the cycle restarts. Let's test out your idea."

The green and white almost skipped out of the room, leaving a black mech wondering if he really wanted to be apart of what could make the slightly younger mech so giddy.

* * *

Ratchet was so tired at the end of the orn that he almost forgot to check in on his explosive best friend. In fact, the medic almost fell into his berth before it occurred to him to check on the younger mech. Starring at his very inviting berth, Ratchet regretfully decided to leave again and visit the engineer before recharging.

With a drawn out exhale, the medic left his own quarters he shared with another medic and started to make his way down the halls to where the engineers had their rooms. Half way there, Ratchet ran into a mech that he really didn't want to see.

Hoist was Wheeljack's roommate, and the only time the older medic ever saw the mech, was when the mini inventor didn't show up for final berth checks.

Ratchet halted in the middle of the hall, ignoring the few other bots that had to suddenly avoid the very angry medic. The red and white didn't even have to ask, Hoist just shook his helm at the narrowed optics suddenly locked onto him. "'Jack hasn't been seen since the safety brief you signed him up for."

"Fragging pit-spawn." Ratchet ran his hand over his optics. "Did you alert campus security?"

The younger mech nodded. "And started asking around for anybot missing their own roommate. I was still doing so when I spotted you."

The medic looked around at where they were currently. Half way between the medics and the engineers in the dorms were the construction bots. A level up would be the scientist, the level below would hold the younger mechs and femmes until they chose a job. Ratchet revved his engine and cast a glance at the rapidly emptying halls. "Have you seen anybot slagging stupid enough to be wandering around while you were checking rooms?"

Hoist looked at the medic like he was crazy. "I would certainly ask them if I saw them, this ain't the first time we had to do this."

Ratchet spared the other engineer a glace as he turned to leave the dorms and check the other areas that Wheeljack tended to wander to. "I know. I was hopeful this might be solved easily and without injury for once in my fragging life." The medic started to make his way to the stairs, when one of the construction bots opened his door.

A frighteningly familiar red and blue mech blinked at the two standing out in the halls. Orion Pax looked from Hoist to Ratchet, then back again as the welder tried to figure out where he knew the red and white mech from. "Er, have either of you seen a black painted mech around?"

The medic could also vaguely remember the red and blue mech from somewhere, but that half recalled memory file paled in comparison to what Wheeljack could be doing with a construction bot. "What dose your slagging roommate specialize in?"

A bit taken back by the caustic tone and the casual use of curses by the red and white, Orion blinked again. "He's a bodyguard." At the flat looks that gained him, the welder in training took a few steps back into his room while he raised his hands in front of him. "Honest. For living arrangements, the instructors just stuck us together when the wings for the military grade bots got full one stellar cycle. We get along well, so neither of us asked for a reassignment."

"A bodyguard, huh? What the slag would Wheeljack have to do with a bodyguard?" Ratchet looked over to Hoist, but the slightly younger engineer could only shrug.

Orion, however, had an icy feeling skating down his back plates. "Did you say . . . Wheeljack?" The welder knew of a Wheeljack. The mech was rumored to be in and out of the medical wings every megacycle at least once or twice. He could also finally place where he had seen the red and white mech before, and why it took so long for him to remember.

"Yes, slagger. Pay attention." With one last glare in Hoist's direction, that the engineer took to mean 'go back to your fragging room and wait for an all clear', Ratchet took a step into Orion's room and grabbed the other mech by the arm plates. "Did your pit-spawn of a roommate get in trouble recently?"

The welder uneasily answered while being pulled out of his own room. "Yes, and he was more than a little torqued about it. Something about his training weapons and the instructors."

Ratchet froze. "Weapons?"

Orion regarded the medic curiously. "Something about unauthorized alterations if I can recall it right."

The medic twitched, then groaned. "Fragging figures." Without another word, the red and white started dragging the welder along to the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Orion didn't mind helping other bots out, but he wished this one had some better manners than just dragging along anybot nearby when he needed help.

"Once we get down to the first floor, you are going to the firing range with a few of the instructors to pick up the pit-spawns and their multitude of pieces, and I'm going to the slagging medical wing." Ratchet spared a glance back to the other mech. "Meet me there when you have most of their fragging parts gathered up."

* * *

Wheeljack blinked at the newly mounted cannons on the black mech, trying to carefully adjust the power settings in the untested weapons. "You will need to hide these, but I designed them to slip into subspace when they are not needed." The engineer tapped on the casing of the cannon he was fiddling with. "I can upgrade them when you get your final frame, so remember to look me up before you leave the Academy."

Ironhide was nearly giddy with excitement. Untested designs or not, he had a theory that he would be seeing the green and white mech a lot in the near future. If the arm mounted cannons were what the engineer could come up with in half of a orn, he idly wondered what he could come up with given a stellar cycle. "Ah promise, 'Jack. Can ah test em out yet?"

Wheeljack gave the mech a grin as he shut the panel he had been working on. "Sure."

The black painted mech had a grin of his own that kept growing larger as he got up from where the engineer had directed him to sit for the install. Taking a few strides to keep Wheeljack behind him when he fired, Ironhide locked his targeting systems onto a target only fifty feet away. Triggering the arming program that was installed when the bodyguard in training had acquired his second to last upgrade, the black mech aimed the right cannon and fired when his systems reported a twenty five percent charge.

With an impressive boom and a brief flash of light, the target was obliterated.

Wheeljack bounced on his pedes behind Ironhide. "Well? How high did you charge it before firing?"

The bodyguard in training twisted his helm to bestow a impressed look on the engineer. "Twenty five. Wonder what ah hundred would do?" With a grin that bordered on maniacal, Ironhide set his sights on the next target over.

The green and white froze mid bounce and almost fell forward. "Uh . . . I don't think that's a good idea." When the black mech ignored him in favor of starting up the next charge, Wheeljack started to panic a bit. "Ironhide? I didn't quite finish those cannons . . ."

That got through to the other mech. The bodyguard twisted his helm around to give the engineer a suspicious look. "What do ya mean ya didn't finish?"

Wheeljack's fins flashed a pale green as he rubbed the back of his helm. "Well, I was kinda rushed a bit. Most of it's in working order, but if you charge it over seventy percent, I can't guarantee it will survive in one piece."

"Ya should have said somethin earlier, 'Jack." Ironhide made a quick check to the charging meter on the cannon and winced.

"It's over seventy, isn't it?" When the black mech nodded, the engineer sighed and rubbed his olfactory sensor plate. "Ratchet's going to kill me . . . fire, 'Hide. It's the only way to keep it from exploding while it's attached. "

Ironhide gave the mech one last look, before turning his attention to the target again.

* * *

The next thing Wheeljack knew, he was staring at the ceiling of the medical wing. He knew it was the Academy's medical wing because he could see his old jaw plate in the ceiling. Rolling his helm to the right, the engineer was unsurprised to see Ratchet glaring at him from above. With a sheepish grin, the green and white tried to sit up, and was surprised to see he had been welded to the medical berth, again.

The medic watched his best friend try and move, only to find out that he could only move his helm. With a smirk, the red and white spoke up. "You may as well face it, 'Jack. Your stuck here until I fragging say you can go."

Wheeljack huffed at Ratchet as he banged his helm on the berth. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. What happened to Ironhide?"

"No, this is slagging insurance against you blowing up the repair bay, again." The medic turned to leave, stopping just before the door. "Ironhide's fine. Lost his right arm, that flew into you when that cannon you fragging built blew. You lost a good portion of your left side, and were in the middle of impersonating a passed out digger bot." Ratchet cast one last smirk at his immobile friend. "The next time you get the urge to play with weaponry, remember this. Pit-spawn." The medic left the room, leaving a gaping engineer behind.

"Ratch'? Come on, mech. This ain't funny!" Trying to wiggle himself free again, Wheeljack found he could only move the repair berth a few inches in any direction. " . . . Ratchet?"


	12. Low Grade Explosives

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating **: I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : My internet problem has now been solved. Celebrate by leaving me lots of reviews!

* * *

**Number Twelve on the List –**

**Low Grade Explosives**

Wheeljack frowned at Jazz. "Why do you need me to get it?"

The silver painted young mech gave him his charming smile, the one he always gave the instructors when they asked a particularly stupid question of him. "Ah could get it mah self, but doin so would make more trouble than it's worth."

Blinking, the inventor rapped his knuckle joints on his work table. Both young mechs were in the engineering bay's lowest level, almost on top of the service tunnels that ran though most of Cybertron. When the building had been rebuilt, the construction students and their teachers crafted the new structure to withstand a decent amount of structural damage, almost three times stronger than the rest of the Academy, to reduce the likely hood that Wheeljack could blow the building's supports out from underneath it again. Even then, the engineering instructors banished the mini inventor to the lowest level of the new building in the hope that he would refrain from blowing up their own workspace again.

Jazz had braved venturing into the usually avoided levels in the middle of the mooring joors, generally considered to be the safest time to disturb the young green and white since most of his volatile experiments usually exploded mid to late in the cycle, once he had the time to fiddle or tweak a few things.

"Common, 'jack!" The mischievous young mech bounced on silver pedes, impatient to get going but not willing to redo most of the work in softening his other mech to his 'plight'. "Ya owe meh ah favor, It's not much ta ask for, right?"

"I owe you? For what!" The young inventor straightened up and pinned the other mech with a half-exasperated look. "I helped you through your last two upgrades!" He poked the slighter silver mech in the chest plates. "On top of that, I helped you with building that visor that bypassed your faulty optics without telling Ratch' about your little glitch!"

Jazz winced at the reminder. Asking the other mech for help had gone against a lot of his hard learned lessons nearly beaten into him as an orphan on the streets of Kaon and Praxus, but he didn't have the skills needed to create supplemental hardware to overrule his faulty original. Coming clean to the inventor had been the hardest thing he had needed to do, but the other mech had refused to help unless he knew why Jazz had needed another 'illegal' upgrade and the new very unconventional visor. Jazz still hadn't told Prowl about most of it, and the black and white was the closest thing to a friend he had, all pretense of stalking aside.

Wheeljack sighed at the truly miserable expression on the silver mech's faceplate. "Alright . . . I propose a deal."

"Really. Ya gonna rip out mah spark out with it?" Jazz was still frowning, but he didn't look nearly as gloomy.

"Talk to either Prowl or Ratchet about what you told me, and I'll get you what you want." Frowning back at the other mech, the young engineering student wondered if this gambit would finally get the other mech some much needed help. Even if Jazz went to Prowl with even half of what the silver mech had told him, the Enforcer in training would logically argue Jazz into seeing the medics, more than likely the Praxian would argue Jazz into seeing Ratchet.

Silence reigned for a few breems, as the silver youngling current need battled with his long held protocols for his silence. "Frag . . . fine. Ah'll talk ta Prowler, alrigh?"

"As Ratch' would say, fan-fragging-tastic." Wheeljack gave Jazz a happy flash of blue and green light from his vocalizer fins. "I'll have it ready by the time we meet up with the others in the quad to refuel."

The silver mech's visor flickered on one side, a parody of a wink. "Thanks, 'jack." He patted the other mech on the back as he started for the door.

The young engineer waited until the other youngling was almost at the door before calling out, "I'm checking with Prowl before I hand them over!"

Laughing as the door slammed, Wheeljack got back to work.

* * *

Prying Ironhide's right hand open, Ratchet peered inside. "How the frag did you do this?"

The black mech stubbornly kept his mouth components shut and Orion Pax, standing behind his roommate, sighed at the annoyed glared the medic pinned the bodyguard with. As far as he knew, it involved Ironhide, a mech named Shockwave, and a few uncomplimentary remarks about Wheeljack's possible lack of sanity. Ironhide had become very fond of the inventor ever since the green and white had built him the cannons that earned the two a megacycle stay in the repair bay as Ratchet's 'guests', and had reacted violently when the mono opticed mech had spoken his slurs against the accident prone Wheeljack.

Luckily for the two slightly older mechs, Prowl had been nearby and witnessed the altercation and had interfered before the instructors caught sight of the fight. The black and white had demonstrated his skills in Diffusion and separated the bodyguard and scientist. He wasn't fast enough to prevent the first swing by Shockwave, or the retaliation by Ironhide that broke the mech's hand and the scientist's jaw plate.

Unlike the black mech, Prowl had no compulsion to prevent the medic from learning why the bodyguard had broken his hand. "I do believe Ironhide was attempting to defend Wheeljack's honor in a rather brutish way."

"Really . . ." The red and white started welding up the small cracks in the bodyguard's support structure. "Screamer or what-the-frag-is-his-name?"

"Shockwave." The Praxian flicked his door-wings minutely in dislike.

Ratchet jammed a screwdriver in some of Ironhide's gears. "We _all_ know Wheeljack's processor is broke in some way. I frequently wonder about his sanity myself, have ever since I met him. Fighting about something so slagging stupid again will earn you a refusal to be repaired. Understand?" The medic twisted his tool until the bodyguard grunted a 'yes'. Ratchet cycled his vent harshly, giving the Praxian a quick glace before prying his screwdriver loose. "Have you seen either of the Pit-spawns yet?"

Prowl inclined his helm in confirmation. "Jazz volunteered to collect our energon for the off-cycle and has commed me that Wheeljack should be on time this orn, as long as nothing goes wrong, precisely two breems ago."

"Well," the young medic slammed Ironhide's armor back onto his hand, "that merchant mech, Sideswipe, and his twin invited us to some slagging club after classes get out."

Orion hurried his roommate on when the bodyguard looked like he wanted to linger a bit longer. The bridge builder wanted nothing to do with the three vorns younger split-sparked twins, especially if even half of the rumors about the two were true.

The two younger mechs watched them go with amusement. The Enforcer in training arched an optic ridge at the medic's snicker. "Was that really necessary? I have no desire to have any association with those twins if I do not have to."

"Not really necessary, no." Ratchet got up and stretched out the kinks in his spinal struts. "But you know as well as I do that the only reason that Jazz ever volunteers to get our fuel is if that fragger is planning something and wants us out of the way."

Prowl's lip plates twitched. "True. See you in two joors?"

The medic waved a hand. "Comm if you need me."

The two split up, the red and white heading for the engineering bays and the black and white starting the long processes of tracking down Jazz.

* * *

Wheeljack was putting the finishing touches on a lump of _something_ when Ratchet let himself into the inventor's sublevel lab. The medic watched for a moment as the engineer began to cut the big lump into smaller pieces. "What the frag _is _that?"

The green and white mech jumped and squeaked, whirling around to give his friend a yellowish green flash of light. "Primus, Ratch'! You scared me!" Wheeljack gave the material he had been working on a quick look before looking back at his guest. "It's . . . um . . ."

"Something for Jazz?" Ratchet gave the now sheepish inventor a dry look. "Yet again, 'jack. What the frag _is_it?"

"Uh . . . the basis for a smoke bomb." Wheeljack dropped his optics to the floor. "My end of a bargain to get Jazz to actually talk to Prowl seriously for once."

"Your . . . making a bomb." Blinking, the medic looked from his friend to the lumps of chalky gray behind him.

Knowing full well that protesting wouldn't get him anywhere, the inventor decided to agree. "Um, well . . . yeah . . . er, bombs, actually. It's missing a few components, but all it does is burn slowly and smoke a lot."

Ratchet blinked again. If he was honest with himself, the medic could admit that it wasn't even close to the most dangerous thing Wheeljack had ever done. The red and white sighed as he rubbed the side of his olfactory sensor. "Fine."

"It won't even burn at this point! And . . . wait, what?"

"I said 'fine', 'jack. Did your last explosion break an audio receptor?"

Wheeljack threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well, sorry! I wasn't expecting that!"

"Just . . . hurry it up." Ratchet retreated to the other side of the almost underground lab just in case. "And if the instructors ask, they are energon goodies from your carrier."

* * *

Prowl frowned at Jazz, who was uncommonly enough frowning back. "Even you have to admit your story is a stretch, if one takes is your usual behavior."

The silver mech gave a frustrated rev of his engine. "This had better be da last time ah hear 'o this."

"I am just trying to convey that I do not believe you Jazz." The Enforcer watched the normally loose frame of his friend/stalker tighten up even further. "Although, if even a fraction of your story is true, you should go see Ratchet about your optics."

"Ya just said ya didn believe meh." The visor wearing mech snapped back, balancing a tray with four energon filled cubes in one clawed hand. "If'n ya don't, drop da subject."

The Praxian cycled his vents, wondering if Jazz had actually been telling the truth. He did get huffy when accused of lying when he was not. Opening his mouth components to flat out ask, he was stalled from asking his question when a muffled boom shook the Academy walls, nearly making the young silver mech spill his tray.

Jazz and Prowl shared a look, their argument postponed in the light of another problem. That had sounded uncomfortably close and not anywhere near the engineering bay. Both rushed outside, oddly enough passing bots screaming about bad energon.

They found Wheeljack seated in the now empty quad, snickering at an oddly silent Ratchet, who was patching up the hole in the green and white's lower chassis. The medic cast the two new comers a quick look before returning back to his work. The inventor wasn't as reserved and waved the stump of his left hand at the two. "It's Ratchet's fault!"

Jazz's visor flickered when the medic failed to respond. "What's Ratch's fault?

Prowl detoured to pry Wheeljack's hand out of a nearby wall as Ratchet grumbled but said nothing. The inventor snickered. "He said to call them energon goodies and one of the instructors said to prove it."

"It didn't mean they were safe to _eat_, 'jack."


	13. Red Alert

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating** : I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : I'm currently going through and fixing the previous chapters, but chapter fourteen is already halfway written as I write this. I've smashed the part two, which was chapter fourteen, into this chapter just to keep the story ordered, and fourteen will be posted in a few days.

* * *

**Number Thirteen on the List – Red Alert**

Humming some random song that Jazz had all but blasted out of his speakers nonstop in an effort to annoy Prowl one cycle, Wheeljack tided up his almost-but-not-quite-underground lab. Nobot could honestly say the lab was clean, stacks of datapads had piled up in the corners and under tables, half-finished projects littered the tops of the tables, the occasional unidentified stain crept out from the areas he tested his more . . . _unusual_ projects at, but regardless, it held a chaotic type of order that let the mini inventor creap around without knocking anything over, up until somebot had informed a certain red and white medic that the lab could be labeled hazardous to one's function. Jazz had taken one look at the latest state his lab and immediately vacated the room, muttering that it was more hazardous than a minefield, Prowl flatly refused to visit for any reason, and Ratchet was still the only other bot who could navigate the lab without setting off an avalanche. Who proved it when he stormed into the engineering bays to yell at his friend about his lack of organization.

So, a few joors later and rather focused on his rearrangement of the clutter, the young green and white missed the sound of his lab door opening.

The first vorn youngling peered around the lab doorway, dreading the actions he had been bullied into. There had been a rising bet among the new bots this vorn and he had been picked to verify if it was correct, mostly because he had a glitch and the others decided he would be no great loss if he exploded. Red Alert slunk into the lab, trying not to panic as the larger inventor sorted through a stack of datapads in the corner. Keeping a lock on his mute function, the soon to be security analyst carefully made his way farther into the lab, twitching and flinching at every sound not made by the inventor.

When the green and white inventor turned to sorting out some half-finished projects on the tables, Red Alert snatched the first gizmo he saw and darted out the still open door.

* * *

Hurriedly piling into a storage closet, the first vorn younglings peered around Red Alert's hand to catch a glimpse of the nigh-legendary explosive inventor's work. A bit of shoving and pushing to get a better one caused the mini security analyst to drop the lump of metal and wires. The seven younglings in the cramped space froze as the thing started to beep. "Uh . . . dose anybot have an idea on what that thing dose?"

Red Alert cast a panicked look to the others. "_YOU said you could figure it out!_" He whimpered as his processor ran through everything that would happen now. The instructors would have to be informed, Wheeljack would have to notified that some arrogant younglings had made off with something out of his lab; his own creators would most likely receive his multiple parts in a box, if anybot could find them.

"Relax, how bad could it be? Wheeljack is still functioning . . ." The ring leader pulled a rather foolish face at the panicky mechling, believing that it made him seem more confident that he currently was.

One of the others didn't look anywhere close to convinced. "Wheeljack's functioning because of that scary medic Ratchet." A round of five nods showed that most of the young bot agreed with the last speaker and not the ring leader.

Still whimpering, Red Alert tried to step over the beeping mass of whatever on the floor, only for the thing to start beeping faster. Without even a backwards glance, the six other younglings ran, leaving the poor mini panicking security analyst trapped in the closet by a possible 'invention of doom'.

* * *

It started innocently enough. The first vorn new bots had to suffer through a medical check by the second vorn medics, and one of the highest ranking student medics from the fifth vorn class would oversee the whole affair. Ratchet had been given the dubious honor of watching over the medics as they stumbled their way through a simple medical check, and it had been progressing as well as he thought it could, when somebot decided not to show up. Glaring at the motley collection much shorter of younglings, the red and white medic tapped his datapad that held the list of names he was responsible for against the nearest repair berth. "Will somebot kindly tell me where the _frag_this Red Alert bot is?"

Dead silence answered him. The group of younglings had all but stopped processing when the larger medic passed by to answer a question one of the other medics had, and none of the new bots wanted to see how much of the rumors about the medic's temper were true. Being interrogated by the same frightening mech had caused some of the more shy bots to contemplate whether or not dropping into stasis lock would let them avoid the mech entirely.

Optic ridges ticking ever closer to each other Ratchet opened his mouth components to start threating somebot with a uncomfortable reformat or two until one of them would start talking, only to snap his components shut when he caught sight of his green and white friend looking a little less white and more grey. With a blink, since it was normally he who had to track the other young mech down, the red and white's processor switched tracks from tracking down a reluctant patient to ensuring the other mech was repaired. "'Jack, if you're missing more slagging parts, you're going to have to wait until these _Pit-spawns_ are done."

"Oh, I'm fine, Ratch'. I'm just a little dingy from cleaning up my lab." Wheeljack gave the medic an absent processed wave as Ratchet scanned him for injury, more interested in the new younglings. "So, do any of you know what you want to be upgrade to?"

To the six younglings in the back, the green and now gray mech's arrival was like a horror story come to life. To be faced with both Wheeljack, the inventor that could blow up buildings, and Ratchet, the medic that would as soon curse you as to fix you, was more than their young processors could take. Ignoring the frantic actions of the youngling ring leader, one of the mechlings threw himself at the two older mech's pedes. "I didn't want to do it, but he made us!"

The inventor blinked in surprise, that hadn't been what he was expecting. The medic on the other hand, was more familiar with such desperate admissions. "What didn't you fragging want to do?"

"He made Red Alert take something out of his lab, and we don't know how to turn it off!"

"MUTE-IT!" One of the mechs at the back, built to be a bit bigger than the normal younglings, lunged forward and tried to manually shut the other youngling up, only to be stopped when Ratchet picked him up by his arms and dangled him in midair.

"You . . ." Quietly spoken, the medic was all the more scary to the six misbehaving bots, "what did that fragging Red Alert take out of 'Jack's lab?"

"It-t was beeping-ing, an-and it-t had-d wires everywhere-err . . ."

"Uh . . . that's bad." Ratchet turned on his friend, one hand still gripping the stuttering youngling. Wheeljack gave the medic a sheepish look with a purple flash of light. "I was wondering where that got to . . ."

"Where _what_ got to, 'Jack? It better not explode you slagger, I'm still torqued about the last incident!"

"Hey! That was mostly your fault." With a huff of his intakes, the inventor crossed his arms over his chassis. "And besides, it shouldn't explode . . . it just might melt."

A moment of silence echoed through the repair bay before Ratchet dropped the mechling he had been holding and pointing at the youngling that had 'thrown' himself on his mercy. "You! Where the frag is RED ALERT!"

* * *

Red Alert stared dumbly at the beeping bane of his existence. Anything he tried to sneak pass it had failed, and unless he wanted to see what happened when the beeping became a long unbroken tone, he was stuck in the closet. His panicky processor had already pulled up likely scenarios about what was going on outside of the closet door, from everything including Wheeljack learning about his violation of his lab and laughing evilly at his soon to be doom to the other younglings laughing about the 'glitch' being deactivated from their dare.

He had been in the closet for close to two joors now, and when the door finally opened a massively bigger red mech peered back at him. "Hiya, yur Red Alert, right? 'M Inferno, with the Search 'n Recovery part 'o the Enforcer's training course. Just wait 'nother breem, mech, 'n we'll have ya out 'o there." Red Alert could have kissed the mech, until he turned a bit to the side and said, "Alrighly, 'Jack. Yur up."

The security analyst squeaked embarrassedly as the same green and now grey inventor carefully wedged himself into the closet's doorway. "Heh . . . nearly a decacycle of working on this and you activated it by dropping it. I was wondering why it never activated for me." Red Alert remained silent, desperately wishing that the other mech would come back. Wheeljack fiddled with a few things, and then said something none of the young bots nearby wanted to hear. ". . . uh-oh."

The intimating tone of an irritated mech spoke up next. "What is it _now, _you slagging Pit-spawn?"

"Well . . . they activated it, and I can't turn it off now, Ratch'. The drop broke the connections to the kill switch." Sitting back on his heel stabilizers, the inventor turned his helm slightly to look at Inferno. "Can you grab the mech as I fudge the sensors on this thing?"

"Sure, but do ya know what yar doin?" The larger mech got up to his pedes and set himself up to grab the other youngling at Wheeljack's signal.

"Yes, it responds to the alloys in a bot's armor," the green and white laid down on the front of his chassis and got close to the lump of wires on the floor, ignoring Red Alert's desperate sounding groan, "all I need to do is rewire this to think that I'm supposed to be here," a few deft flicks of his finger joints, and the beeping changed tempo, "now, Inferno!"

The young Search and Recovery mech snapped out his hands and snatched up the slighter mechling before throwing himself backwards, with Red Alert flailing on top of his chassis. Ratchet and Prowl grabbed hold of Wheeljack's pedes and pulled a bit too slow.

The invention went off in the inventor's hands, and true to form, it exploded instead of the expected melting.

Sitting up and ignoring the streaks of green and white now on the floor, Wheeljack regarded his wrist stumps thoughtfully. "Uh . . . if that was what I think it was . . . where did the other one go?"

Prowl, slumped against the wall, looked up sharply at the other young mech. "What other one?"

Red Alert squeaked again as Inferno pushed himself upright, causing him to slide off the Search and Recovery mech's chassis and onto the floor. Ratchet was scowling at his best friend as he clamped the leaking and much abused lines shut to keep the inventor from bleeding out all his energon. Wheeljack himself gave the black and white Praxian a sheepish grin around a few winces of pain. "Well, like I said, I was cleaning my lab, and in the process I kinda lost track of a . . . few of my projects."

Prowl gaped at the other young mech for a moment until his processor and battle computer locked onto the predicted results of one of Wheeljack's projects in the hands of another bot. "Ratchet, I calculate a fifty nine point eight percent possibility that whatever Wheeljack lost will explode in the next few joors."

"No it won't!" The inventor glared at him, insulted that everybot seemed to think that if something was associated with him it would explode. "It melts! I already said so!"

The first vorn youngling abandoned any attempt to make the world start working like it should and dove behind the much larger red mech, who was looking more than a bit bemused at the company he was now keeping.

"Mute it, 'jack. You already said this one was supposed to slagging melt, and that you lost track of more than just these two fragging projects." Ratchet finished his temporary repairs with a few more twists of his pliers, and knocked the other young mech on the helm. "What are these Pit be damned projects of yours supposed to do?"

"Uh . . . don't hit me, again, but . . . I can't remember." Wheeljack winced away from his best friend, backing up almost into Inferno. "You told me to clean my lab, and it's clean! I just . . . can't find anything now, not even my notes on what I had."

"Not ta interrupt or anythin, bu' shouldn' we be lookin for 'jack's other do-hickys before they go boom?" The larger red mech got three other mechs to stare at him for that statement. Inferno raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Jus sayin."

Red Alert peered around the larger mech's thigh plating at the inventor, medic, and Enforcer in training, wincing when the medic locked his optics on him. "First off, take that slagger to the second vorn medical bay for his fragging checkup." Ratchet glared at Inferno until the mech nodded and started to guide the much smaller mech away. "Prowl, comm Jazz and the security station and tell the fraggers we got a class three emergency." Wheeljack looked up curiously, wondering what a 'class three emergency' was only to get the red and white medic's finger joints in his view. "_You_ . . . you will tell me every slagging thing that you're missing out of your lab!"

* * *

The melting project was found, nearly a megacycle later, in the possession of one Starscream, when it went off in the seeker's lab and caused the second largest explosion in the Academy's history to date. In the next two decacycles another three were found when they chose to go off, one ended up in the instructor's lounge and knocked the bot sitting on the chair it had been attached to into a wall, one was found by some students and they had alerted campus security to deal with it only to have it go off before any of the EOD Enforcers could gather, and the last exploded where it had been set on the roof of the medical training bay. The entire engineering student body labored over Wheeljack's notes and records, with the Enforcers cataloguing the numerous projects the inventor had started and only most of the time completed. They came to a consensus that all of the missing projects had been found after a decacycle of work, only to be proven wrong when Sentinel Prime visited the Academy and was treated to the sight of another explosion taking the roof off the dorms. The Prime later remarked that it had been a rather impressive fireworks display, and none of the instructors ever corrected him.

Wheeljack finally found out what a 'class three emergency' was; it was an explosion related emergency that may or may not be his fault. Pouting, he was nonetheless mollified when he was ordered to never clean his lab again by the instructors and an exasperated Ratchet.


	14. Prowl

**Summary** : Ratchet's list of Wheeljack caused mishaps that incurred a loss of the left hand, starting from their youngling days to the time they arrive on Earth.

**Disclaimer** : Transformers, Ratchet, and Wheeljack, are the property of Hasbro. I'm just playing with them.

**Rating **: I'm going to go with T on this one. Just don't try any of this at home, kids.

**Author's Note** : Right peeps. I'm sorry for the long silence. My muse for this story kicked my aft and left me for some other story that had more action to it. I can't recall who asked for this, but whoever you are, this is for you.

Yeah, so that fanfic crackdown I'm getting a little annoyed at. Some of the oldest stories I've ever read for Transformers started out as simple slash or pornography, and evolved to have some of the twistiest story lines I've ever read. And it's not just that genre either, cause **Mopps****' **_Out of the Dust She Rises _has one pornographic chapter in it near the end, but it's the coolest story I've ever read about the effects of a psychotic breakdown as it happens and how to deal with those who have been brainwashed, including the reconditioning of a human mind.

If you all would like to give me an email address just in case something happens to this or another of my stories and I have to post it elsewhere, you can drop me a line at : **the (underscore) demonic ****(underscore)** lady (at) hotmail (dot) com. Send me an email with your pen name so I know who to alert. Just please don't sign me up for spam.

* * *

**Number Fourteen on the List - Prowl**

In the weirdest role reversal in the Academy's history, _Prowl_ was the one now stalking _Jazz _around the Academy grounds.

For some odd reason that no bot other than he could surmise, the silver young mech would do everything in his considerable range of talented tricks to avoid any area he knew that the black and white Praxian could be found in. Jazz even went to great painstaking lengths to avoid the other Enforcers in training, knowing that the bots that trained with the tactically inclined youngling would inform him if they spotted even a glimpse of his silver paint.

Prowl could be seen living up to his designation and prowling around the campus, hunting for his reluctant sort of friend. Having dealt with Jazz constantly for nearly an entire vorn by now, the young Praxian mech had learned a few tricks to keep up with the energetic and multi-talented mech. He even gave up his strictly regimented routine, calculating that he had a greater probability with that in catching his strangely acting friend even if it did make him late on rare occasions, unnerving a few of the instructors.

Wheeljack was more than a little upset that his bid to corral Jazz into getting some help had backfired so badly, but he figured that he had done enough damage and should keep his helm down, especially since if Ratchet found out what he had done it wouldn't be pretty for him.

Puttering about his highly reinforced lab down in the engineering bay's basement, the mini inventor was badly startled to turn around and suddenly see a rather piqued Prowl nearly glaring at his back. "Wheeljack, I find myself in need of assistance."

"… Ratchet's not going to like this, is he?"

* * *

Ratchet was supposed to be studying. _Suppose to be_ being the key words there. He had final exams coming up, and although he was nearly a fragging genius with medical repair, even he needed to hit the text files on occasion.

Instead, he got a mostly panicked transmission from Wheeljack right before he even touched his data pad containing a garbled, rushed apology for what he was about to do, something about bots going off the deep end, and that he was really, _really_ sorry. Alarmed, the mini medic contacted his cadre of expert Wheeljack wranglers, half of which had gotten the green and white mechling in trouble before, but none of them knew what the inventor was going on about.

And if it wasn't one of them, Ratchet was afraid that his explosive best friend had finally gotten into something he couldn't excitedly babble his way out of.

So following the well-established procedure that involved Wheeljack's more memorable volatile incidents, the medic rallied the bots he could, alerted the Enforcers, and sent a transmission to the Academy's trainers to keep the other students in well-fortified buildings.

Oddly enough, although the red and white young mech could contact Jazz, he hadn't heard back from Prowl yet.

With Hoist stationed at the dorms, Ironhide and Orion Pax patrolling the grounds, Red Alert and Inferno with the Enforcers in the courtyard, Aerial and her femme friend Acree scouting out the other buildings that had seen a Wheeljack incident before, and Perceptor with the instructors, Ratchet took Jazz and headed straight for his best friend's lab.

At first glance it didn't look like anything was out of place, the inventor would never be known for neatness but had managed to force some measure of order to the disaster zone he worked in. But the silver young mech, who had seen more than a few violent incidents in his short function than he wanted to recall, could see that something had happened near the far wall. Stalking over to take a closer look, Jazz inspected the objects nearby meticulously. Spotting something out of place, the young mech picked up a bolt with his claws, one that had been painted green on the head. "Uh, Ratch'?"

"… that's from 'jack's wrist joint." Being rather familiar with the other mech's parts, the medic could recognize each and every one by sight, because there were identifying marks on each of them for easy reassembly. "He's got parts and tools aplenty here, why the frag did he cannibalize his own frame?"

Jazz handed it over silently, still inspecting the table he had picked the part up from. He crouched low suddenly, tracing something with his claw, then bolted for the lab's exit.

Ratchet blinked, first at where the silver mech had once been then at what he had been looking at, before taking off after him.

(ooo000ooo)

The red and white medic lost sight of Jazz rather quickly, but since the silver young mech was running flat out, without the normal twisty shortcuts he was rather well known for, Ratchet just continued in the same direction. A flash of white and green through a door way made the medic stumble to a halt and spin around, catching sight of Wheeljack crawling around with a stump of a left wrist missing the hand in the abandoned rec room. "'JACK!"

The inventor looked up briefly, flashing his best friend a bright pulse of blue light. "Hiya, Ratch'. Sorry about the scare, though can you help me look for my hand? I lost it somewhere around here."

Ratchet's left optic twitched, and he calmly strolled over to the white and green mech. "What the frag do you mean you lost it?"

"I'm helping Prowl out with Jazz." Wheeljack got up to his pedes, correctly guessing the medic would chew him out for using the stump to prop himself up on the floor later. "He said we needed something as bait, so I pulled one of the bolts that held my hand on. But it fell off somewhere around here, when I was pacing the room a little while I waited." He inspected the broken connections and the clamps he had added to his own energon lines. "There were two bolts before, right?"

"There were two bolts until you slagging vaporized them saving Red, 'jack. I only had three in your size in the med bays because you keep melting or blowing yours up, you Pit-Spawn." Ratchet grabbed the severed joint and peered into it. "So what the fragging Pit is this all about, anyways?"

"I… err… talked Jazz into telling Prowl something he didn't want to do, and now Jazz is avoiding him." The inventor rubbed the back of his helm with his right hand, sheepishly looking ever where but at his best friend. "So Prowl got my help in cornering the slippery mech by laying a trap for him."

The medic adjusted a clamp to a better position and glanced up at the slightly younger mech. "So why your slagging left, 'jack? Why is it always your left?"

"My more important parts are all on the right."

Ratchet blinked at him, having never realized that may have been the reason most of Wheeljack's accidents happened to his left side was because of something un 'jack like as a sense of caution.

"And Percy calculated that the risk of something blowing up was minimal if something on my left side was missing." Flashing the staring medic with a green light, the inventor bounced on his pedes. "So it's logic, Ratch'."

Rolling his optics at the more predictable response, the red and white young mech dropped the green and white's stump and started checking around the floor for a misplaced green hand.

They found it after a breem of searching, somehow a glitch had developed when the part hit the floor and some of the finger joints were twitching hard enough to drag the rest of the metal hand father along the room until it hit the far wall with a soft knocking sound, alerting them to where it had gotten to. Ratchet wasn't surprised, the inventor had been rebuilt so many times by now that it was perfectly conceivable that he would develop some type of physical glitch, and Wheeljack just wanted to puzzle out how it had happened.

That was about the same time as preposterously calm Prowl reappeared, dragging a very disgruntled, and bound up tighter than any weapons locker, silver mech by the pede. "Ratchet, my apologies for dismissing your comms. However, may Jazz and I have a moment or two of your time?"

The two mechs sitting on the floor looking at the dismantled green hand between them glanced up at the Enforcer in training and his 'prisoner'. Ratchet raised an optic ridge at Jazz, who just looked torn between being very proud that Prowl had shown a devious side, vastly frustrated that he was tied up too tight to tease the black and white Praxian about it, and a good dose of unease about what was going to happen.

"Uh… sure… 'jack, you are sure nothing explosive was involved with this, right?"

Wheeljack gave him a bluish green pulse of light, still poking at his dismembered hand. "Yep. Just a disassembly this time, Ratch'… oh. Wait; there was that thing I was working on…"

Ratchet twitched, Prowl slapped a hand over his optics, Jazz started laughing as best he could with a clamp over his mouth component, and the building shook as the engineering bay's basement exploded, again.

The inventor looked up sheepishly at the medic as soon as the sound of a building collapsing in on its self died down. "Heh… at least the engineering and construction bots are getting their credit's worth in rebuilding lessons, right?"

Ratchet nailed him with a wrench between the optics.

"Jazz will have to wait a moment, Prowl. Stick him in a closet somewhere."


End file.
